


through cracks in the cobbles, we bloom

by nettlestingsoup



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 1930s Vibes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content (In Later Chapters), Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Political Background, Slow Burn, Strong Language, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlestingsoup/pseuds/nettlestingsoup
Summary: Minho's been chasing a revolution his whole life.As a boy, growing up with Hyunjin and Seungmin, surviving using magic that could get him sentenced to death; as a teenager, using blackmail and whispered words to set cities alight. And now, as the world begins to shift, a lone sorcerer who's never stepped outside the gates of his ancestral home could be the key to everything he's fought for.But changing the world is never easy. It's never neat. And Minho doesn't bargain on changing with it.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Kim Woojin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 193
Kudos: 288





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear fox for proof-reading this for me; it wasn't exactly a small request. I started this sometime in July, and you had to listen to me scream about it for the following five months. But here it is, and I hope it brings some other Stays joy!
> 
> Updates every three days unless I'm extraordinarily busy.
> 
> Update 21/10/2020: this work, along with my other ot9 works, will stay up! It was written in a different time, but I'm still very proud of it, and I don't want to let allegations that still aren't confirmed or refuted affect that. Thank you <3

The letter Minho received from Jisung was short and to the point. It arrived early in the morning, pushed through the letterbox of his temporary apartment with such force that the sound of the box slamming shut jolted his hands and made him tear his earring through his ear. Minho hissed in pain, tossing the letter onto the table unopened as he searched for something to stem the bleeding. Healing had never been his strong suit, despite the number of scrapes and bruises he'd had to fix using magic over the years. It hadn't exactly been a priority of his various tutors, to teach thieves and tricksters to heal. If you were injured, you were caught, and by that standard you were probably already dead.

"Fuck," he said as he caught sight of his ear in the mirror. The lobe was torn clean in half. Jisung better pay for a doctor if it didn't fix itself. Roguish charm would only get you so far in Minho's business; it was favourable, he found, to look a little more clean cut; a torn ear didn't exactly fit the necessary aesthetic.

The remnants of an old shirt pressed to the wound, Minho returned to the letter, sliding a knife under the flap of the envelope. There were only five words, printed with a typewriter with an uneven letter c - just a little too rounded, so that it was almost an o. Only Jisung used a typewriter like that.

_Want to cause some chaos?_ it read. Minho grinned. This should be interesting.

* * *

"Minho!" Jisung pulled him into a hug as soon as he met him at the train station, the man behind him offering Minho a smile bright enough to cut through the smog of the train as he shook his hand. Minho almost ignored it, focusing on his surroundings; the station was more crowded than Minho had expected from a city so small as this, a kind of ugly, fearful energy building here and drawing people in. Something was coming.

Minho did his best to focus back in on what Jisung was saying. "This is Felix, my new business partner. Never met anyone who can get to the bottom of a case as fast as he can. You got anywhere to stay in this city? We don't have much room at our place."

Minho flicked quickly through both their minds. 'Business partners' had caught at something in Felix's head, sending a flash of vibrant, desperate gold through his thoughts. _Drop the word business, he was thinking. Just say partners. You've come close to kissing me when you're drunk enough times for me to know how you feel_. Minho quirked an eyebrow at Jisung, tilting his head towards Felix, and Jisung snorted.

"Get out of our heads, Minho," he said casually. "I expect it of you, but it doesn't mean it's not rude."

"Wait- what?" Felix asked, thoughts suddenly full of things obviously intended to cover up his genuine surprise. It didn't work.

"I've already told you Minho's a sorcerer," Jisung explained, "but what I didn't tell you is that his speciality is reading minds. Not that he uses it for anything except stealing shit and causing problems."

"You love the problems I cause," Minho said lightly, picking Jisung's hat off his head and placing it on his own. It matched his suit better.

"Yeah, yeah," Jisung grumbled, grabbing Felix by his suspenders to pull him away from the platform where he still stood, trying carefully to control his thoughts. They spiked into a rush of panicked _oh god oh god oh god jisung jisung jisung_ as Jisung pulled him along, and Minho laughed out loud. He'd missed Jisung. Felix, it seemed, would make things even more interesting.

"Now," he said, matching Jisung step for step and looping an arm around his shoulder, "what kind of chaos were you thinking of?"

* * *

Jisung took Minho back to his and Felix's office. It was small and untidy, piles of papers teetering on the edge of the desk, and when Minho glanced through the door to the small flat attached to the office, he saw an equally untidy kitchen. From the panicked flutter of Felix's thoughts, Minho gathered that the bedroom the two of them shared was in a similar state.

But Jisung had pulled a decanter of whisky from under the desk along with three mostly clean glasses, so Minho decided that he didn't mind the mess.

"So," Minho said, taking the offered glass. "Tell me what you’re thinking."

"Can't you just pull it out of his head?" Felix asked.

Minho shrugged. "This is Jisung we're talking about. His thoughts are never in the right order. Plus, who knows what I might see if I dig around in there?" He winked, and Felix blushed. Minho didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking.

Jisung sighed. "Damn it, Minho,” he complained. “Can I have ten minutes of peace?"

"No." Minho sipped his drink. "Tell me what's going on here."

"Ok,” Jisung said with a resigned sigh. “You know the Bang family?"

Minho nodded. "Who doesn't? Oldest sorcery family out there."

"Exactly. Twenty-one years ago, an heir to the family was born. Chan, they named him, after some ancestor or another."

"He's a complete shut-in," Felix interjected. "Never left the grounds as far as we know."

"In twenty-one years?" Minho asked incredulously.

"Crazy, right?" Jisung continued. "But that's not even the fun bit. The fun bit..." He leaned back in his chair. "Is that when he was born, there were rumours that he wasn't the heir." He nodded to Minho. "Take your anarchistic, hierarchy-dismantling tendencies and do with that what you will."

Minho looked at him. "You're telling me that the guy up in that house - the guy everyone says has the most power of any sorcerer in his family going back centuries - isn't actually related to that family in any way? You're telling me that one of the most powerful sorcerers on this planet right now is a commoner?"

"Bang on," Jisung said, grinning. "Thought that might be a narrative you enjoy."

"Wait- why?" Felix asked. “Jisung told me he’d let you explain. Refused to say a thing about it to me until you got here.”

"How much do you know about sorcerers, Felix?" Minho asked. "About the society we've made? You're not a sorcerer, are you?"

Felix shook his head. "My parents were. Not me. I know that the bigger families hold onto a lot of the power. They don't let other people use it much. There are riots starting all over the place about it lately."

"Bingo. If you're not part of one of those big blue bloodlines, you're not allowed to do magic. You can be arrested, or even killed for it. I’m sure you’ve seen the papers. The higher-ups don't like the idea that anyone outside of their blood can do magic at all; it's why people like me exist. I'm not linked to a big family tree. Magic, for me, is a crime. So, that’s what I use it for." He grinned, swirling his drink in the glass. "But this Mr Bang... He's not actually part of the family. If he's a commoner, dirt off the street that they took in and trained... They're disproving the narrative they've been writing for centuries. All by themselves. We just need to put it out there."

"I thought your skills might be handy in getting the proof we need," Jisung suggested. "Ideally, we need someone to get inside the house. Check this Bang Chan is as powerful as everyone says. Find evidence that he’s not the heir. Felix or I are more than capable of it, but... This is right up your street. Wanted to give you the chance."

Minho’s smile sharpened. This was making his blood race already. "I appreciate it. You know I'm in."

"Nice. Start whenever. Just keep reporting back, yeah? And like I said, you'll have to find somewhere to stay. Felix and I don't have the space for a third person."

Minho turned to smile at Felix. "That's fine. I have friends in this city. I guess it gets a little cosy, sharing a bed?"

He flipped casually through Jisung's head as Felix turned red. Cute, he was thinking, along with a great deal of very embarrassed, joyful flashes of winter mornings awoken with Felix curled so close against him he couldn't move. Minho pushed down a laugh. Oh, he could have some fun with this.

"Get out," Jisung said casually. "Of my head and my office. Go find those friends of yours."

"Yes, sir," Minho said, offering him a mock salute. "I'll see you both around."

The clink of glasses followed him out, and he smiled at the triumph he could see colouring both their thoughts. It wasn't time to celebrate yet, though. There was a great deal to come before that.  
But first, Minho had to find some old friends. Everything would work out from there.

* * *

Seungmin was leaning against the wall of his and Hyunjin's house when Minho arrived.

"Seungmin!" Minho called delightedly, and Seungmin shot him a faintly unamused look. "I suppose you knew I was coming?"

"I did," Seungmin said slowly. "I'm guessing you're here for no good reason."

Minho grinned. "Am I ever anywhere for a good reason?"

Seungmin finally broke into a smile. "Not that I've ever heard. Come on up, Hyunjin's waiting. And I want to introduce you to our new asset."

Hyunjin was sitting on the sofa in the living room, flicking through a deck of cards without actually touching them. They hovered in front of him, shuffling themselves as he sipped his drink. Slowly, three of them fluttered down to lie on the coffee table. Three kings of hearts, all in a row. Minho didn't quite think there should be that many in a deck. Hyunjin flicked them away with long, slender fingers, only noticing Minho in the doorway when he bent down to pick them up.

"Look what the cat dragged in!” he called. “It's been too long, Minho." He was right. It had been years since Minho had last seen the two of them. He had adopted them off the street, barely older than they were, taught them as many tricks as he could and watched their own abilities as sorcerers grow. Hyunjin’s, at least.

"It has. I'm surprised we're all still alive given our habits."

Hyunjin smiled, rolling his eyes. "I'm surprised you're still alive. Seungmin and I live perfectly safe, respectable lives.” Minho snorted. “Besides, we’ve got ourselves a little bit of good luck." He leaned back on the sofa, calling up the stairs. "Jeongin! Come and meet Minho!"

Footsteps sounded on the boards above, moving across the corridor to the stairs. Minho watched as a slight young man clattered down into the living room, legs a little too long for him, features sharp and eyes bright. Seungmin tensed beside him, and his thoughts fluttered. Hyunjin's did the same, both of them light as a butterfly's wings for a moment. Interesting.

"This," Seungmin announced, tilting his head slightly towards the newcomer, "is Jeongin. The luckiest guy we've ever met."

"Oh?"

"Everything works out when he's around," Hyunjin explained, offering the deck of cards to Jeongin. Without looking, he pulled four aces, laying them down one at a time on the arm of the sofa. "Some weirdo salesman was using him to gamble. Had him tied to the table. We sort of stole him."

"Rescued him," Seungmin corrected. Hyunjin shrugged.

Minho turned to Jeongin. "Which is it? Did they steal you or save you?"

Jeongin looked a little surprised to be addressed directly. "Saved me," he said. He spoke quietly, but there was an air of confidence there, the strength only associated with barely leaving one’s adolescence.

"Good," Minho said casually. "I know these two get up to some shady stuff, but kidnapping would be where I draw the line." Hyunjin and Seungmin exchanged a look. Minho sighed, and kept his attention on Jeongin. "I'm a mind reader," he explained, "and those two are the only people whose heads I try to stay the hell out of, because frankly I just don't want to know."

Jeongin smiled slightly. "Maybe that's a good idea," he agreed. "I'm not sure they even think in the truth anyway."

Minho broke into a grin, feeling Jeongin’s thoughts go dazzled with it for a moment. "I like him," he said to Seungmin. "Now. I need to stay with you for a while. I’ve got something of a project going on."

"Any idea how long it’ll take?" Seungmin asked. He was frowning now, perhaps not relishing the thought of his carefully built peace being disturbed.

"Depends how long it takes me to get into that mansion on the hill and pick apart a twenty-one year old conspiracy theory," Minho replied.

Hyunjin whistled through his teeth, levitating his cards back into their box. "You're going after the Bangs? You want to watch out for that guy. Powerful sorcerer."

"Will you help me or not?" Minho asked.

"Of course we'll help you," Hyunjin said, and Seungmin nodded. "We stick together, remember?"

Minho grinned. "Great. Guess I'd better start making a plan, then. This thing could be delicate. Although, if your lucky charm's here, we should be all good, right?" Hyunjin dropped the box of cards. One slid free, and Minho glanced at it through Hyunjin’s eyes as he leaned to collect it. King of hearts. Again.

"Sure," Seungmin said quietly. "Come on. You can take the attic room."

True to his word, Minho didn't poke his nose into their heads any further. As his oldest friends, they were afforded a certain level of privacy. But it didn't stop him wondering exactly why their little lucky charm was really here. Minho evaluated him again as he walked past, under the guise of shooting him a smile. Pretty. Elegant, although he was still growing into it. Very much Seungmin's type, at least. Hyunjin’s too, apparently.

He held back a laugh. First Jisung, now these two. It seemed like Cupid was chasing after his little family with a vengeance these days. But not him.

He had a job to do.

* * *

The next day, after a good night's rest and a hurried breakfast with only Jeongin for company - Hyunjin and Seungmin had always been late sleepers, even more so now they had no responsibilities but their own - Minho headed back to Jisung's. The city was barely awake but still bustling, and Minho spent most of the route dodging cars and choking on smog.

Jisung was straightening Felix's tie when Minho threw open the unlocked door to their flat, Felix blatantly staring at his lips as he did so, eyes wide with yearning. Jisung’s fingertips were brushing the skin at the base of Felix’s throat. The two of them jolted at the intrusion, turning towards the door. but didn't move apart. Minho snorted. He wondered how many times Jisung had used that trick to get close to Felix, to share his space just for a few moments. He wondered how many times Felix had let him.

"Good morning!" he called, acting as though he hadn’t interrupted something. "I bring croissants and questions."

Felix immediately straightened up a little. "Croissants?" he asked, and Jisung released his tie with a fond smile as Minho tossed him the paper bag.

"What are your questions?" Jisung asked. "I thought we explained everything pretty well last night."

"Oh, you did," Minho said, waving a hand airily. "But I've slept on it, and I need to get moving. So. Any employees of the house that we know of? Anyone I can try to get close to?"

Jisung shook his head, the last of the soft, dreamy look fading from his eyes as the cogs in his head whirred. "The last two employees - a couple of groundskeepers - were laid off a good five years ago now. Kim Woojin and Seo Changbin. I've been meaning to ask them some questions, but I need to gather some more dirt first so I actually have something to talk about."

Minho nodded slowly. "So, I have to knock on the front door? There's no one to sneak me in?"

"No one. Mr Bang senior got a little paranoid in his final years. Fired everyone. Didn't do much for the rumours that there was something funny going on."

"No, I imagine it didn't," Minho said thoughtfully. "Ok. One more question. What started the rumours that this kid wasn't the heir?"

"The Bangs threw pretty big parties back then. For all the other high-up sorcery families, you know? Apparently there was no evidence that Mrs Bang was ever pregnant. One night she was partying away at some masked ball and the next she had a baby. They brushed it off, saying that she wasn't healthy, that they hadn't been sure if she'd carry the baby to term so they hadn't told anyone. She was a tiny woman, to be fair. Looked pretty frail. It was as believable a story as anything those blue bloods get up to."

"But not believable enough to stop the rumours," Minho said, more to himself than Jisung. "Ok. Thanks. I'll start working on a plan to get into the house. What are you two doing?"

Felix gestured to the piles of paper around them. "This is everything we could find on the Bangs. We're pretty much just cross-referencing at this point. Looking for anything that ties up between articles and records."

"Wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Minho muttered, scanning the nearest newspaper headline. Felix laughed.

"That's investigative work, Minho. Not all of us can pull info right out of people's heads."

Minho grinned. "I'll have to keep feeding you croissants, won't I? Fuel those brains. I'll bring you more when I've figured something out." He headed for the door, stopping halfway out. "Oh, I'm staying on Wormwood Street. The house with the stolen door knocker."

"How will we know it's stolen?" Jisung asked, leaning back on his desk, hands in his pockets.

Minho grinned. "None of the other houses have door knockers," he said with a wink, and Felix's laughter followed him down the stairs and out the front door.

* * *

"So," Hyunjin said, leaning against the armchair where Seungmin was seated and levitating a deck of cards between his hands, "just to recap. You want to get up into the mansion on the hill, possibly befriend the owner, and sneak around until you find evidence that he doesn't belong there?"

"Exactly," Minho confirmed. "That's exactly what I want to do."

The four of them were gathered in the living room; Hyunjin and Seungmin were seated side by side on the sofa, Jeongin in the armchair, Minho pacing up and down between them. Minho had explained everything Jisung and Felix had told him, and plans were being brainstormed.

Hyunjin snorted. "That's the most idiotic, half-brained idea you've ever come up with. Are you even sure that he's not the heir?"

"Not completely," Minho admitted. "I have a good feeling. But no, I'm not sure."

"Sounds like too much of a risk, Minho," Seungmin warned. "Even for you." Jeongin knew that tone. Even Hyunjin tended to falter at that tone. Apparently though, Minho was somewhat immune.

"Not if I had a bit of extra good luck," Minho said slowly, tilting his head towards Jeongin.

"No," Seungmin said firmly before Jeongin could speak. "Not happening."

Minho grinned at Jeongin, rolling his eyes. "Fine. I'll come up with a plan that doesn't require a lucky rabbit's foot." Seungmin stiffened, and Hyunjin laid a soothing hand on his arm.

"You don't even know what this Bang Chan is like," Hyunjin pointed out. "And you're relying on befriending him enough that you can get free run of his house?"

Minho shrugged lazily. "I can befriend most people once I've got them figured out. It won't take long."

"So you just need a way in," Jeongin said softly.

"Bingo. The place is out of the way. If I'm going to sneak in, I need to get plans of the property. If I'm going to knock on the front door, I need a reason to be there."

Hyunjin hummed to himself, laying out the cards one by one while he levitated his glass and poured himself another drink. "The old 'I think we're cousins' won't work?" he asked. "You've used that plenty. People are too trusting for their own good."

Minho shook his head. "The Bangs are an old, elitist family. You can bet they've got every second cousin and aunt's husband's grandfather for the last four hundred years painted and framed on the walls of that house. Posing as family is too risky."

"Looking for work?" Seungmin suggested. "Big house, poor economy."

"All employees were fired towards the end of Bang senior’s life. The bitterness about that runs deep here. I don't know how aware of that our Mr Bang is, but it's a little odd to ask for work at a house with zero other workers." Seungmin nodded thoughtfully, a frown starting to form between his brows.

"You're there by chance," Jeongin suggested after a moment. "You were out in the country, something went wrong... An injury, maybe. It was the nearest house."

Minho clicked his fingers. "Now we're getting somewhere! Plenty of young men wandering the countryside for no good reason these days. I think they call it a hobby." He turned to Hyunjin and Seungmin, sitting across from him. "Can't the kid have a drink? He deserves one."

"He's too young," Seungmin said curtly.

"I'd take that seriously if it came from someone who didn't break the law on a daily basis," Minho teased. He reached for the decanter, and Hyunjin floated it away from him and back to the cupboard without even looking up from his cards.

"He's too young," he repeated, and Seungmin ran a hand over his hair affectionately.

Minho cast Jeongin an apologetic smile. "Next time, kid." He got to his feet, pacing between the sofas, drink in hand. "So! I'm out in the country. An injury is too difficult to fake, and I'm not particularly willing to break my own fingers again."

Again? Jeongin mouthed, and Hyunjin laughed softly as Seungmin rolled his eyes. Jeongin felt warmth rise in his chest until Minho continued.

"How did I get out there?"

"Automobile? Broke down?" Hyunjin suggested.

Seungmin shook his head. "Then you've got to leave a broken-down automobile in the middle of the countryside just in case he's the type to want to check it out. Try a horse that bolted. Could be anywhere."

"I like it!" Minho said loudly, spinning on his heel to throw Seungmin a sharp grin. "Knew there was a reason I kept you around, scrap."

"Don't call me that," Seungmin said, but there was no bite to it. The clock on the mantle chimed midnight, and Minho drained his glass.

"That'll do for tonight, folks," he announced. "We've got the basics of a plan. I can work out the kinks myself after some more sleep. Goodnight, all." He dropped his glass, walking away before checking that Hyunjin had caught it, and headed for the stairs.

"Oh, Jeongin?" he asked, turning back to the living room. "When's your birthday?"

"Not until February," Jeongin replied. He could hear the tremor in his own voice. Minho made him nervous sometimes, and this was one of them.

Minho sighed. "Shame. If it were sooner I'd take you out for your first drink." He winked, aimed more at Hyunjin and Seungmin than at Jeongin himself, and headed up to bed.

Seungmin sighed into the silence as Jeongin felt himself blush. "I'm going to punch him," he muttered, even as Hyunjin rubbed his shoulders soothingly. "Even one more day of this and I'm going to break his perfect nose."

Hyunjin snorted. "Pretty sure you've said that every time you've spoken to him for the last sixteen years, but you haven't done it yet."

"Tomorrow," Seungmin said. "Tomorrow will be the day."

"At least wait for him to finish this job," Jeongin suggested lightly. "I don't think he'd thank you if he had to turn up at that house looking like he'd been in a brawl."

"You," Seungmin replied, pointing at him, "are the last person who should defending him." But he was smiling as he said it, and Jeongin smiled back. This was a different kind of flutter to the one Minho gave him, softer and warmer and more comforting somehow.

"One thing Minho is right about," Hyunjin said, "is that it's time for bed. Come on, Seungmin." He took Seungmin by the hand and pulled him off the sofa, pausing to rest a hand on Jeongin's shoulder as he passed. The touch lasted perhaps a moment longer than it should have done, but Jeongin didn't shy away from it.

"Goodnight, Jeongin," Hyunjin said softly.

"Goodnight," Jeongin replied, glancing between the two of them. They looked at him with such gentleness, sometimes. It made his heart ache. Not many people had ever looked at him like that.

"Sleep well," Seungmin said. "You'll need your rest for dealing with that prat."

Jeongin smiled absently as the stairs creaked beneath their feet. It was best, he decided, if Seungmin didn't know that Jeongin had made up his mind to spend at least a little more time around Minho than he would approve of.

* * *

The soft knock on Minho's door came around three in the morning.

"Minho? Are you awake?" It was Jeongin's voice, almost a whisper.

"Come in," Minho called. The door creaked open. "Something wrong, Jeongin?"

"No," Jeongin said slowly. "I want to talk to you about earlier." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning awkwardly against it. "I'll do it," he said.

"Do what?"

"Go with you. Up to the Bang's house. To bring you luck."

Minho smiled, watching Jeongin smile back nervously. "You sure you're up to it?" he asked teasingly. "It might be scary up there."

"It's just a house," Jeongin said, and Minho felt some spark of amusement at the way his voice shook just a fraction, thoughts racing.

"A house containing one of the most powerful sorcerers around," Minho pointed out. "A house your... close friends…” Jeongin’s thoughts fluttered in a panic of Hyunjin, Seungmin, Hyunjin, Seungmin, “don't want you anywhere near." His smile widened to a grin. "What makes you trust me over Hyunjin and Seungmin? They only want what's best for you."

"But you want to do something bigger,” Jeongin said, voice growing stronger. “You want to change things."

"I do," Minho agreed slowly. "Do you?"

He watched Jeongin hesitate, watched his eyes shift and his lips part. Pretty. Delicate, in the way broken glass was delicate. He could see why Seungmin and Hyunjin were so captivated by him.

"Yes," Jeongin said. "If things were different, if things were better... I wouldn't have ended up tied up and unable to ask the police for help. Hyunjin and Seungmin wouldn't have had to spend their whole childhood running. The riots, the violence… Things need changing. I want to help."

"Good. I think there are a lot of things you and I could change together, if we put our minds to it." Minho leaned forwards. "But we'll see how it goes. Get some rest, Jeongin. We'll talk more about timings tomorrow."

He swung his legs up onto the bed, head on the pillow and eyes closed. He heard Jeongin hover for a moment, and then the sound of the door opening and closing, and footsteps in the corridor. He smiled. Seungmin and Hyunjin would find that interesting. If he chose to tell them.

* * *

Hyunjin was waiting for Jeongin outside his room. He held up a hand before Jeongin could speak.

"I heard everything. I won't tell Seungmin," he said softly. "I think you know what you're doing. But I will talk to Minho about this." He turned and headed back into his and Seungmin's room, closing the door behind him. Jeongin stood frozen in the corridor, unsure of what to do. He couldn't speak to Hyunjin without waking Seungmin. And why would he? Hyunjin, it seemed, was willing to let him do what he wanted to. There was no need for Jeongin to push.

He sighed. Minho had told him to get some rest. It was good advice. Jeongin slipped back into his room, closing the door and shutting out the rest of the world until morning.


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said slow burn... it perhaps doesn't apply to everyone.
> 
> Next update Saturday!
> 
> -

Minho woke early, planning on heading to Jisung and Felix's office before the city got busy. There had been unrest lately, tension rising as he’d noticed in the train station, more and more gold triskeles representing sorcery appearing on walls and shop windows and jackets. The magical elite stared at them in disgust, repulsed by the idea of losing their monopoly on magic; those without magic feared the symbol, terrified of losing the few jobs there were these days to sorcerers. Something was coming. It was growing clearer by the day, and Minho intended to be a part of it.

Hyunjin was waiting for him outside, hands in his pockets.

"Morning," Minho said lightly. "Awake before noon for once?"

"I heard your conversation with Jeongin last night," Hyunjin said, and the gravity of his expression started to make sense.

Minho let out a single syllable of laughter, tilting his head back towards the sky for a moment. "Are you going to tell me not to involve him? Because if you heard our conversation then you should be clear on the fact that he very much involved himself."

Hyunjin shook his head. "I think he's perfectly capable of being involved. He's clever, and your plan is shaky enough that I think you'll need him. But we don't know how this plan will go, even with him around. So," he took a step closer, just enough for his superior height to be clear and a little threatening. "You protect him before yourself. If he gets hurt, and you come out of this unscathed, you get a double of his injuries." He sighed. "And Minho, I swear, you're my best friend... But if you get him killed - with this or your triskele bullshit - you're going to end up in a ditch with your throat open. You know that, right?"

Minho grinned, clapping a hand on Hyunjin's shoulder. "I wouldn't expect any less of you. I taught you to protect your own, didn't I?” He paused, tilting his head a little. “Not that Jeongin's yours yet, I don't think."

"If you make some kind of move-" Hyunjin began, fear darkening his features for a moment.

"I won't, Hyunjin," Minho said, a little softer. "I can see how much he means to you. No matter how much I joke about it, you know I wouldn't go there."

"I know." Hyunjin said quietly, obviously relaxing at the confirmation. He pulled Minho into a hug. "You know I love you?"

"Yeah," Minho said, returning the embrace. "I love you too." He felt Hyunjin yawn against his shoulder. "Go back to bed," he said, laughing. "I'm sure Seungmin's missing you."

Hyunjin snorted. "Do you know how hard it was to get out here? He clings. I swear one of these days he's going to strangle me in his sleep."

Minho smiled a little sadly. "I'll take a little of the blame for that. If not for me, I doubt he'd be so afraid of losing you."

"If not for you, Minho, neither of us would have made it this far," Hyunjin countered gently. "I'll see you later. Take care, won’t you? I’ve heard about some bad stuff happening to sorcerers around here lately." He disappeared back into the house, leaving Minho alone on the street. He took a deep breath of the morning air. That probably wasn't the earliest in the day he'd ever been given death threats, he thought to himself. But really, there had been no need for it. He and Jeongin would be fine. As long as everything went according to plan.

* * *

Jisung woke later than Felix. He could hear him humming as he searched their crammed wardrobe for a shirt, and managed to mess up his timing badly enough that he rolled over just as Felix pulled the t-shirt he had slept in over his head. Jisung quickly looked away, turning his head and pretending to still be on the edges of sleep. It was torture, waking up to this every morning. Ever since he had teamed up with Felix and the boy had, sheepishly, told him that he didn't actually have anywhere to live, they had shared the bed in Jisung's small apartment. Which would have been fine if Felix weren't beautiful and funny and ridiculous and everything Jisung adored. But he was, so Jisung suffered. And occasionally Felix looked at him in a way Jisung thought might mean that he was suffering too. Jisung tended to break out the whisky when that happened. Then at least he could blame any stupid move he made on alcohol.

"I know you're awake," Felix said from across the room. God, that voice. Jisung could drown in it.

"I'm not," he replied. "I'm very asleep."

"Oh? Then you won't care if I do  _ this! _ " Jisung heard the smile in Felix's voice before he felt the impact, Felix's weight on his stomach knocking the air out of him. He coughed, opening his eyes to see Felix grinning above him, shirt only half buttoned and hair still tousled from sleep. Oh, this was a new kind of hell.

"Good morning," Felix said, still smiling. Jisung wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the way that smile contrasted with the way he spoke. It was like sunlight shining up from the bottom of the sea. "Hey, you in there?" Felix poked his cheek.

"Get off," Jisung said lightly, pushing at Felix's shoulder. The fabric of his shirt slipped, leaving Jisung's palm pressed against bare skin, and he pulled his arm back as though he'd been burned. Felix laughed, apparently totally unaware of the way Jisung's skin prickled where they'd touched, oblivious to the way his heart was racing.

"We were going to get those extra files from the town hall, right?" Felix asked. "We'd better get going, given how busy it gets after ten." He leaned back thoughtfully, sitting almost on Jisung's hips and bracing a hand on his ribs, and Jisung did his best to focus on what he was saying. "Maybe busy is better given that this is a little illegal."

Before Jisung could reply, the sound of knocking came from the office. Felix frowned, nose wrinkling a little, and Jisung felt his heart melt. He never quite had words for what every little expression of Felix's did to him.

"Who would be knocking at this time?" he asked, half to himself.

"Minho," Jisung explained with a sigh. "It can only be Minho."

Felix turned to him. "He does this early morning thing a lot?"

"I swear he's slept for about four hours in the three years I've known him." Felix laughed, throwing his head back. Jisung loved it when he laughed like that. It made him want to kiss him. Not that Jisung didn't spend a good deal of his time wanting to kiss Felix.

_ Don't go there, _ he told himself.  _ It's too early in the morning for alcohol. _

"Go greet him," he told Felix. "You're more dressed than I am. I'll be there in a minute."

"Ok," Felix agreed. "I'll... get off you." His voice trailed away and he blushed as though he had only just realised the position the two of them were in. He retreated quickly, fumbling to button his shirt as Jisung resisted the urge to scream into a pillow. He lay in bed for a little while, listening to Felix greet Minho.

"I'm sure you two were having a very... interesting morning," he heard Minho say. He could almost see his Cheshire cat smile.  _ Stay out of my head _ he told him, and heard him laugh through the door.

"Get out here, Jisung! I know how I'm getting into the house, and we start tomorrow!"

"Five minutes!" he shouted back. He needed to do his best to clear his head of Felix before he went out there. If they were going to discuss one of Minho's hairbrained schemes, they were going to do it in a professional manner that  _ didn't _ involve getting distracted by his coworker's perfect mouth. He heard Minho snort and try to disguise it as a cough.

Jisung sighed. This was going to be a long morning.

* * *

“I thought we could maybe go out tomorrow,” Seungmin suggested over breakfast. It was closer to noon than most breakfasts were, but that tended to be normal for Hyunjin and Seungmin. Jeongin had adjusted. “The three of us. We haven’t left the city in a while. It might be nice. Especially with the turn things have taken lately.”

Jeongin tried not to look over at Hyunjin. Tomorrow. He’d agreed to go with Minho tomorrow. “I’m not free tomorrow,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Oh,” Seungmin said. He sounded disappointed. Jeongin tried to swallow how much that hurt. He loved spending time with the two of them, but something he had learned was that it was a genuine push for Seungmin to suggest it. Jeongin would probably face a week of Seungmin being awkward and skittish after this, retreating to Hyunjin rather than trying to reach out.

“I’m really sorry,” he said sincerely. “I wish I could go with you.”

Seungmin smiled. “That’s ok,” he said. “What are you up to? Anything fun?”

“Not really,” Jeongin said, trying desperately to think of a lie. “I just need to go to the doctor. I haven’t been sleeping well.” He tried not to flinch as Seungmin’s eyes widened with concern.

“Are you ok? How long has that been going on for?”

“A few weeks. I didn’t want to worry either of you.” Seungmin’s face crumpled a little, and Jeongin felt sick to his stomach as Seungmin reached for his hand, the usual butterflies associated with his touch crushed by guilt.

“You can always tell us these things, Jeongin. Maybe we couldn’t have helped with this but we can sometimes, ok?”

Jeongin nodded. “Ok,” he managed to say. “I’ll tell you if anything else is wrong.” He looked at Hyunjin. “You two should still go out tomorrow, though. Have a nice time.”

Seungmin frowned. “I’d prefer to be around. The streets aren’t safe for anyone lately, especially people like-”

“I think Jeongin’s right,” Hyunjin interrupted. “You haven’t left the city in months, scrap. You could do with a break from it. I could, too. The energy here isn’t good at the moment. We’ll take Jeongin with us next time.”

“...Ok,” Seungmin said slowly. “If you’re sure you’ll be fine, Jeongin.”

Jeongin tried to smile. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

“Ok, then,” Seungmin said. “Hyunjin and I will go.” Jeongin’s heart dropped into his stomach as Seungmin smiled at Hyunjin, that fragile, adoring look in his eyes. Seungmin would never look at him that way, no matter how much he hoped for it.

Especially not when he found out Jeongin had lied to him.

* * *

Felix sighed. Minho had arrived in a whirlwind earlier that day, announcing his plan to get into the house. It sounded shaky to Felix, too reliant on weather and kindness, but Minho had insisted he had something up his sleeve that would make it work. Jisung had told him to trust him, and Felix had.

But just because Minho had a plan, it didn't mean that he and Jisung had any less paperwork to sort. After hours queueing at the town hall, they had left with nine boxes of newspapers and records rented by dubious means; the challenge now came in searching for anything shady - or anything at all, really - on the Bang family. After two hours of work, they had found nothing, and Felix could tell that Jisung was getting bored. He had been fidgeting and muttering to himself for the last hour, and he had just started his third drink, sighing heavily as he poured it. Felix was getting a little nervous. When Jisung got drunk, he was...different. His inhibitions fell away, along with the usual quick, bright stream of words and actions Felix was accustomed to. He became quiet, and thoughtful, and had a tendency to just...watch. If he were far away, he would lean back in his chair and stare at Felix, eyes following every slight movement. If he were close, he would touch. Never anything inappropriate, never anything that would make Felix uncomfortable. Just a gentle hand that rested on his back, or rubbed his wrist, or toyed with his hair. And if Felix got up to leave, Jisung's grip would tighten briefly before he seemed to collect himself enough to let go. The last two times, Felix could have sworn Jisung was staring at his lips.

Felix had been captivated by Jisung since the day they met. He was bright and loud and  _ shining _ , and Felix had felt like a planet pulled into orbit around a star. They had been investigating the same case, and Jisung had offered to work alongside him immediately.

“We’ll get through this faster if we share info,” he’d said. “What do you say?”

And Felix, in the face of that sunny, heart-shaped smile, had agreed in an instant. And then Jisung had been clever and kind as well funny and animated, and Felix had fallen faster than he ever thought possible. He’d thought he was dreaming when Jisung offered to let him stay at his apartment until he found somewhere to live.

Months had passed since then, and Jisung had brushed off any mention of Felix moving. Felix did his best not to speculate on what meant. If he thought too much about it, and about the way Jisung looked at him in the morning sunlight and the fading dusk, he might come to conclusions he couldn’t bear to be wrong about.

It was another thirty minutes before Jisung tossed aside the paper he was reading, hand coming to rest on Felix's shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles there. Felix tried to ignore him politely, but before long the motion dislodged one of his suspenders. It settled at his elbow, and Felix made no effort to replace it.

"Sorry," Jisung murmured, and Felix turned to see him staring vaguely at the point where Felix's collar met his throat.

"That's ok," he said softly, and Jisung swallowed. The moment felt charged somehow, static sparking bright enough to set the papers around them alight, and Felix didn't breathe as Jisung's hand moved slowly to the top button of his shirt, pulling it open gently.

"It's summer," he said quietly. "You don't have to button it all the way."

"Oh." It was all Felix could find to say, and Jisung smiled in the direction of his shoulder.

"You have such pretty skin," Jisung continued in a whisper. Felix couldn't tell if he was supposed to hear, but his heart was beating too fast for him to return his focus to the paper in his hands. He let it fall to the table as Jisung reached up, fingertips fluttering over Felix's cheekbone.

"So pretty," he breathed as his fingers brushed over Felix's freckles, his nose, coming to rest softly against his lips. "Felix," he said. Felix waited, unwilling to speak with Jisung's thumb moving slowly over his lower lip.

"Felix," Jisung said again, softer, and he was closer now, his nose barely an inch away from Felix's. But he passed by, letting his forehead fall onto Felix's shoulder, hand curled on the back of his neck, and Felix found himself able to breathe again for barely a moment before he felt the brush of Jisung's lips on his neck where he had loosened Felix's collar. He didn't know if it could be called a kiss. Jisung was drunk, most likely exhausted from hours of paperwork, and in all likelihood this was completely accidental.

But Jisung shifted closer, his thigh close against Felix's, and turned his head so his lips pressed in earnest against Felix's neck.

"Felix," he whispered again, close to his ear. It seemed to be all he wanted to say, unable to convey his meaning through a word other than his name. Felix pulled his head back, turning to do his best to meet Jisung's eyes.

"Jisung," he said carefully, sliding one hand into the long, tangled mess of Jisung's hair. Apparently, that was all Jisung needed to hear. The hand that had been on Felix's neck skimmed down to brace on his thigh and Jisung leaned in, pressing Felix back into the cushions of the sofa as he kissed him. Felix held him tight, tasting the alcohol on his tongue as he returned the kiss. It felt like a storm breaking, to kiss Jisung after all this time; something explosive, something he had felt building like the air pressure rising; something natural, inevitable. It had only been a matter of time.

Jisung pulled away, pushing Felix against the back of the sofa so he couldn't follow.

"Drunk," he said after a moment. "I'm drunk."

"Does that change anything?" Felix asked in a whisper. Jisung shook his head.

"Want to kiss you sober," he said. "In the morning. Kiss me again."

Felix nodded, unable to hold back a smile. "I'll kiss you in the morning," he agreed.

"Good," Jisung murmured, resting his head on Felix's shoulder again. "Good."

And Felix did, while Jisung was still complaining of a headache at eleven. And Jisung kissed him back, and it felt like something growing where rain had fallen.

* * *

Jeongin couldn’t look at Seungmin at dinner. He could see him casting the odd glance Jeongin’s way, tentative and bittersweet, but he didn’t respond in kind. He kept his eyes on Minho, watching him chatter away and listening to his jokes, laughing as though he hadn’t noticed Hyunjin’s gaze flitting between him and Seungmin, reading their auras as he often did. Jeongin wondered what he saw there.

“I think Jeongin’s gift of good luck makes perfect sense,” Minho was saying to Hyunjin when Jeongin refocused on the conversation. “He looks like a fox, after all. Aren’t foxes supposed to be lucky?” He smiled, sharp and lovely, and jokingly leaned over to brush Jeongin’s hair away from his forehead. “Look at those eyes! Sharp as any fox I’ve seen.” Jeongin found himself blushing.

Seungmin pushed his chair back from the table with somewhat unnecessary force. The others turned to him, Hyunjin biting his lip and Minho perhaps appearing less surprised than he should.

“I’m going to bed,” Seungmin said, refusing to meet any of their gazes. “Good luck with the doctor, Jeongin.”

Minho raised his eyebrows. “The doctor?”

“Jeongin hasn’t been sleeping well,” Hyunjin said quietly.

“Oh? Well, if they prescribe you barbiturates, promise you’ll slip me one or two.” Minho winked, and Seungmin made a sound that might have been a muttered curse before he disappeared up the stairs. Jeongin heard his bedroom door slam.

“Minho,” Hyunjin said disapprovingly.

“What? Seungmin can’t take a joke, is that new?”

“Stop it, Minho.” Jeongin’s voice was stronger than he expected. Minho shook his head in disbelief.

“Even my partner in crime, hm? If you’re not going to be any fun, I’ll go.” He drained his glass. “Meet you outside at seven? We need to be gone long before the others.”

“Seven,” Jeongin agreed. Minho nodded, throwing him a smile that seemed somehow more shadowed than usual. Like an echo.

Hyunjin, once they were alone, sighed heavily. He reached for Jeongin’s hand almost as though he didn’t think about it, just wanted comfort. His hands were warm. Hyunjin’s hands were always warm, Jeongin noticed.

“Would you believe more than one family dinner with Minho has ended like this?” Hyunjin asked, smiling weakly.

“Absolutely,” Jeongin replied, squeezing his hand gently. “I get the feeling he and Seungmin aren’t exactly compatible.”

“They were,” Hyunjin said softly, eyes dropping to the table. “Once.” He sighed. “Early start for you, Jeongin. Finish eating and go to bed, ok?”

“I will,” Jeongin promised as Hyunjin stood, carrying plates over to the sink. He could feel the hints of nervousness now, wondering what tomorrow and the house on the hill would bring.

“You’ll be fine,” Hyunjin said. Jeongin turned to see him smiling reassuringly, eyes unfocused as they often were when he read auras. “You’re our lucky fox, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jeongin replied. “I guess I am.”

He hoped that luck would hold.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters, in a very Jeongin-focused chapter! Next update will be Christmas Eve; a present for those of you who are reading (thank you, thank you, thank you!).

Chan had been alone for a long time now.

Actually, he decided, that was wrong. He'd never been alone. He had been surrounded his whole life by the dead, by portraits and statues and graves that could be convinced to talk with a little effort and some candlelight. But the living? He hadn't spoken to any of those in a long while. His parents had fired the two young gardeners, Woojin and Changbin, four years ago, and died shortly after. He had been nineteen, and alone.

But there had been the dead to instruct him on how to take care of the house, the grounds, telling him how to hold it all together using the same old, old magic that had always been used. Chan spent most of his days reading over their words, or seated in the stone pavilion in the garden, feeling the magic of the house like a cat's cradle around him. No one ever entered the walls.

So it came as something of a shock when he heard a knock at the door.

Chan froze for a moment in utter disbelief. He waited. Another knock at the door. Carefully, he focused the magic of the house, let it tell him who was there. Two of them. Both sorcerers. One around his age, the other a little younger.

The knocking sounded again, and Chan jolted. He felt the urge to hide. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone except the spirits he summoned.

But maybe it couldn't hurt? They were like him, after all. They couldn't mean him much harm. He could defend himself if they did. He knew all the theory, at least.

It had been raining all day, despite his best efforts to dispel it, and the two sorcerers were soaked to the skin. The younger looked nervous, sharp eyes shy, while the older stared at Chan with a strange, sparkling steadiness.

"Hi there," he said, shoulders bowed against the rain. "We're sorry to bother you, but our horses bolted while we were out - lightning, you know - and this was the nearest house we could see. Can we come in until the rain slows a little?"

Chan blinked. They were sorcerers. Why hadn't they simply moved themselves home? Or created shelter? Or summoned their horses back?

He didn't ask any of that. "Sure," he said quietly, opening the heavy, engraved door a little wider. "Come in."

"Thank you," the older man said. "You first, Jeongin."

Jeongin ducked his head awkwardly as he headed through the door, shooting Chan a faint smile. It put him at ease, somehow. The other sorcerer, whose name Chan hadn't caught, gave a much sharper smile. It was a cat's smile, bright enough to cut glass. It took Chan a moment to smile back.

"You can come through to the parlour," Chan said. "The fire's going." He couldn't quite bring himself to meet either of their eyes.  _ They're just people, Chan,  _ he told himself.  _ Just like the spirits you call. Just like Woojin and Changbin were. Just people. _

"Would you like anything to eat?" he asked. "I don't have anything fancy. Some fruit, or bread... a cheeseboard at a stretch."

Jeongin sat up a little straighter by the fire, and the other sorcerer laughed. He had taken off his coat and jacket to reveal his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark suspenders holding up narrow, grey trousers that emphasised a slender waist.

"I think food sounds good," he said, smiling. He held out a hand for Chan to shake. "Lee Minho," he said. "I don't think I introduced myself properly. This is Yang Jeongin."

"Bang Chan."

"Not of the historic Bang family?" Minho asked. Chan nodded, suddenly shy and a little worried. He knew the reputation his family held around the locals. "Well, that puts this house in perspective! Why don't I help you out with the food and you can tell me a little about the place?"

"O-ok," Chan said. This man was bright and bold and sharp and something about him made Chan feel... dazzled. Like it was all a distraction, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. But where was the harm in telling him a little about the house? It was his life's work, after all.

And it had been so long since he had spoken to someone who hadn't passed beyond the grave.

"The kitchen's down this way," he said. "I'd normally take the servant's stairs, but we can pass by the library if we take the main corridors. My family have collected the largest number of magical texts ever found in one place since the sacking of Alexandria."

They went on that way, Minho asking questions as Chan chattered away. He could still feel it beneath Minho's curiosity; something strange about him, something shifting. But he found, when Minho saw a bust with a broken-off nose and said he couldn't see the family resemblance, that he didn't particularly mind. He hadn't laughed like this since Changbin and Woojin left.

Jeongin had fallen asleep by the fire by the time they came back. Minho smiled fondly at him.

"Have you two known each other a long time?" Chan asked.

"Not really. He got involved with some friends of mine. I couldn't really avoid him, and... I got attached, I suppose." Minho grinned, lifting the bottle of wine he and Chan had taken from the kitchens. "He's too young to drink, though, so maybe it's a good thing he's asleep."

Chan laughed. "Maybe it is."

He poured them both wine, alarmed at how much his hand shook from the simple euphoria of company. It really had been too long. And Minho was everything he could want in company, if he was honest. There was a shine to him. Burning magnesium before Chan’s eyes.

Minho took a sip of his wine, humming appreciatively. "So," he asked as the rain rattled on outside, "you've lived here all your life? Never travelled?"

Chan shook his head. "This place requires pretty careful maintenance. The magic here is... complex. Can't you feel it?"

"I can't," Minho admitted. "My talents lie elsewhere."

"What do you do, then?" Chan asked, suddenly curious. He’d never really met another sorcerer outside the upper-class families.

"Aren't you going to tell me I can't do magic? I'm not of the blood, after all."

Chan was silent for a moment, staring into his glass of wine. "I don't believe that," he said quietly. "Magic is for anyone who has it. It's not dependent on blood, it just... is." He looked up at Minho nervously. The other sorcerer was staring at him thoughtfully, eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

"I read people's thoughts," he said eventually. "And I can read tarot cards. Entrails, too, to a degree. Messy work though. I don't do it often. I stick to tricks. Things that distract people."

That explained why he hadn't simply teleported out of the rain, Chan thought to himself. Minho didn't do high-powered sorcery. His work was technical, delicate. Like clockwork.

"Show me a trick, then," Chan asked softly. "Distract me from the weather."

Minho smiled. He reached for the candelabra behind Chan, carefully cupping a single flame beneath his palms. Chan gasped as Minho let the flame run from hand to hand, down his fingers and over his knuckles. Minho laughed at his surprise, but Chan was too amazed to feel embarrassed. Eventually, Minho snuffed the flame and Chan took his hands without thinking, turning them over to check for burns. Nothing. Minho's skin was just as perfect as it had always been.

"That's incredible," he breathed. "I've never seen anyone do anything like that."

Minho laughed again. "It's just a flame, Chan," he said gently, and Chan felt himself begin to blush.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just- I haven't talked to anyone in a long time. I'm not good at this."

He felt Minho's hand settle gently on his shoulder. "You've been by yourself?" he asked quietly.

"Not- no. I can summon spirits to talk to- the dead- but...it's not the same. It's not like really having someone around."

He heard Minho hesitate, the crackle of the fire filling the silence. "I could come back and visit you from time to time," he suggested eventually, and Chan's heart leaped. "If you just wanted someone to talk to."

"I-" Chan began, trying not to betray just how happy Minho's suggestion made him. This would be a friend, someone to talk to who existed outside his own little world, someone funny and clever and interesting. "I'd like that, but I imagine I'm a little far out of your way. I wouldn't want to trouble you."

Minho smiled. "Trust me. You're no trouble." His smile turned sharp. "Especially if all your wine's as good as this."

Chan laughed, loud enough to stir Jeongin from his sleep.

"Has the rain stopped?" The younger sorcerer asked, words slurring a little. Chan listened.

"It has," he said softly. He turned to Minho. "I guess you did a good job at distracting me."

Minho looked at him thoughtfully. "I guess I did," he said. "Come on, Jeongin. Let's get you back home. Thank you for the food, and the fire, Chan. And the wine."

"Any time," Chan said. He looked into Minho’s eyes. "I mean it."

Minho smiled, eyes narrowing like a cat’s. "I'll take you up on that."

Chan showed them both to the door, shaking their hands politely as they left. Minho clapped a hand on his shoulder and winked, and Chan laughed slightly. He was still smiling when Minho and Jeongin disappeared down the drive, Minho's jacket hooked on his index finger and slung lazily over his shoulder. That had been... fun. For the first time in years, Chan had had  _ fun.  _ And Minho had said he would come back. There was still something strange about him, something more than Chan could see, but... he supposed, if Minho came back, he'd have time to figure that out. He closed the door, and the quiet didn't seem quite so heavy as it had before.

* * *

"We did it!" Minho exclaimed as soon as the two of them were out the main gate. He laughed, spinning around on one heel so that his jacket flew out behind him, and Jeongin laughed too, probably more out of sheer relief than the wild, savage joy Minho was experiencing.

Minho draped an arm around the back of his neck as he sauntered on, grinning from ear to ear. "Hyunjin and Seungmin were right about you," he said. He was speaking too loudly, he knew, too exuberant. He felt drunk, like more than a single glass of wine was coursing through his veins. They'd fucking  _ done it _ . They got into Bang Chan's house, and got invited back _.  _ This was probably the biggest stunt he'd ever pulled, and it was  _ working. _

"What do you mean?" Jeongin asked.

"You're good luck. I don't think that would have gone half so smoothly without you."

Jeongin looked down. "I didn't really do anything."

"Oh, but you did! Sure, you might be naturally lucky, but you've spent years honing it, right? You can influence things to some degree? That right there was the result of a lot of hard work on your part." He leaned closer, pressing a smacking kiss to Jeongin's cheek. "Oops. Shouldn't do that. Hyunjin will get pissed."

"Hyunjin?" Jeongin asked tentatively. He seemed hopeful.

"Mm. He told me on no uncertain terms that he'd slit my throat if you got hurt. He's never threatened me for anyone except Seungmin before, and that only made sense once I visited them and realised only one of the two bedrooms in their house was being used.”

"Oh," Jeongin said quietly, and Minho felt some of the buzz fade from his skin.

"I mean it, Jeongin," he said gently. "They both care about you as more than an asset for work. Take it from the mind reader." Not that he’d been able to read Chan’s, he realised. It had been a blur of colour and light and emotion, too abstract for him to make sense of. He supposed that was what happened when you were alone for so long.

"I hope you're right," Jeongin said. Minho laughed softly.

"I always am. Now come on. If you're lucky, they'll be so happy you're alive that they won't be so strict on the 'no drinking' rule. We've got a lot to celebrate."

"Do you think it'll be easy from here?"

"I'm not saying it'll be a breeze. I've still got to find a way to sneak around in that house without our Mr Bang. But he trusts me, Jeongin. It took all of an hour, and he  _ trusts _ me. Not absolutely, but that's to be expected of a guy who hasn't spoken to another human being in two years." He paused, thoughtful. "He said he talks to spirits. Maybe I'll get him to teach me so I can pass it on to Hyunjin. Swindling money out of old ladies who want to talk to their dead husbands is more his gig than mine."

The lights of the city blazed ahead through the edges of the woodland, dim and golden, and Minho basked in it. "We're going to make something of this, Jeongin. Things are going to change for people like us."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Jeongin asked. He was still half in shadow, the golden light burning in one of his sharp eyes. It was eerie, to say the least.

Minho thought of the way he and Hyunjin and Seungmin had grown up. His friend beaten to the cobbles for conjuring a butterfly for child. The uprisings he’d seen in far-off cities. The escalating violence against sorcerers born in circumstances like his own, spreading even to this quiet city. He could feel so much fear here.

"Someone's got to," he said softly. He pulled his arm from Jeongin's shoulders, heading down the hill towards home without another word.

* * *

Jeongin arrived back home in the middle of the night. He had sat in on Minho's discussion with Jisung and Felix, seen the manic joy in all of them at the idea that they were one step closer to their goal as Minho recounted their evening. Jisung had grabbed Felix and kissed him hard until Minho had thrown a pen at them, threatening to soak their sheets in whisky and set their bed alight with them in it if they kept that up.

"Don't you dare waste my whisky," had been Jisung's response, and Felix had laughed like it was the last joke he'd ever hear. There had been something a little unsettling about the whole atmosphere; it had felt like a dream, air aromatic and oversaturated with emotion. And Jeongin hadn’t liked the way they carried on as though Chan was nothing outside of their plan, a spirit who vanished as soon as he was beyond the line of their eyes. But Jeongin didn't feel like pointing that out, knew it would fall on deaf ears, so he had called exhaustion and set off walking home.

Seungmin and Hyunjin were waiting for him. Seungmin's face was stony, and Hyunjin was staring into a glass of gin as though he wanted to drown himself in it.

"Jeongin," Seungmin breathed as he stepped through the door, crossing the room at speed to pull him into an embrace. It barely lasted a moment before Seungmin held him at arm's length, shaking him slightly. "How could you be so  _ stupid?  _ Doing something so dangerous?"

Jeongin stared at him, confused and a little angry. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Drop the act. I know where you really went today.” Jeongin understood his expression then. He’d never seen that particular glint of fear and hurt in Seungmin’s eyes before, and he hated seeing it now.

"I was fine,” Jeongin managed to say, tearing his eyes away from Seungmin’s. He didn’t think he could stand to look at him for long.

"But you might not have been! Do you know how easily something could have gone wrong with that stupid plan? And Hyunjin didn't even tell me until after you'd left-"

"Because he knew you'd react like this," Jeongin argued. "He knew you wouldn't have let me go. But Minho was taking care of me-"

"Minho?" Seungmin let out something that could have been a laugh or a sob. "You think  _ Minho  _ would take care of you?"

"I did threaten to kill him if Jeongin got hurt," Hyunjin said softly, still staring into his glass.

"That wouldn't have stopped Jeongin getting hurt," Seungmin said slowly, his grip on Jeongin's arms getting painfully tight. "That would just have left us with two dead friends and a fucking murder charge."

Jeongin finally pulled away, dislodging Seungmin's hands. "Even if Minho didn't look after me, I can take care of myself. I'm lucky."

"To everyone else, Jeongin! Not to yourself! When we met you, you were tied to a fucking table, and you think you can take care of yourself? You need us!"

Jeongin stopped. Couldn’t speak for a moment. Seungmin hadn’t said that. He hadn’t. But the regret dawning over Seungmin’s face told him otherwise, and Jeongin did his best to hold back the tears he could feel burning at the corners of his eyes.

"Fine, then,” he said, voice shaking. “If I'm such a fucking  _ burden _ ." He turned, dodging the hand that Seungmin reached out to him, and darted out of the house. He slammed the door behind him, running across the street into an alley so that he couldn't be seen if anyone decided to follow. He waited. No one did. Only silence from the house.

Jeongin wandered further down the alley, sinking down the wall opposite a gold triskele. Minho had a badge like that, he thought distantly, hidden in the inner pocket of his coat. He had seen more and more of them around the city lately, followed by whispered stories of riots and protests in other cities. Sorcerers, refusing to be hidden behind the shadows of blue blood and centuries of hierarchy any longer. Soon, something had to break.

He heard the door slam again, and watched as Seungmin strode down the street, shrugging on his coat. He turned left. Heading to a bar, then.

Jeongin considered his options. It would be easy to go back in the house now, but Hyunjin had seemed upset. Call him a coward, but Jeongin didn't feel much like dealing with that right now. He could stay here, but the ground was cold and getting colder by the second. At least if he was walking he'd be warm. So, he got to his feet and continued down the alley until he reached a larger road, and set off towards the city boundaries.

* * *

The sun was rising by the time Jeongin made it out of the city, and it had begun to rain; it was a strange, misty rain, hissing down and setting the flowers sparkling in the dawn. It soaked Jeongin through his shirt quickly, and he shivered as he made his way along the little country lane he had found himself on. He could see a house approaching on the corner with a covered wooden bench, clematis winding up the sides. He could take shelter there for a while, he thought. It wasn't like anyone would be awake for a few hours anyway.

Jeongin curled up on the bench, enjoying the slight shelter from the rain. If he sat here until the sun rose fully, maybe he could get his thoughts in order.

He was still angry at Seungmin, he realised. Still angry that he'd treated Jeongin like a child, like he would never have been anything without Seungmin and Hyunjin. But that was wrong. Jeongin could have been anything he wanted to without them.

He just wanted to be whatever that was with them by his side.

Jeongin buried his face in his hands. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They weren't supposed to argue. It was supposed to be the three of them. He'd felt that since the first day they met, when Hyunjin had looked at him like he shone and Seungmin had gently cleaned the abrasions on his wrists from where he had been tied. The feeling had only grown stronger as he spent more time with them, something in his core wanting to keep them close. As he watched Hyunjin, all long limbs and dramatic outbursts that made him laugh. As he learned to read Seungmin, see the sweetness that lay beneath the surface.

And now this. Now Seungmin was defensive and Hyunjin quiet and sad, and Jeongin just didn't know how to fix it.

"You can come in." Jeongin turned, ready to leap away. A man stood in the doorway of the house, shorter than Jeongin but broader in the shoulders. He looked friendly. "Come on," he said. "Get out of the rain."

Jeongin hesitated. It seemed foolish, to enter the house of a stranger.  _ You’re lucky, though _ , some slightly bitter voice whispered. And he was, wasn’t he? And this person seemed kind. Slowly, Jeongin uncurled himself from the bench, following the stranger inside.

"I'm Jeongin," he said softly.

"Changbin. Let me take your jacket, I'll get you a blanket." Jeongin shrugged off his soaked jacket, letting Changbin hang it on a hook. "It was Woojin's idea to let you in," he continued. "I hadn't even noticed you out there until he told me."

"Woojin?" Jeongin asked. A face peered around the doorframe as Changbin led him towards the living room. He had golden skin and quiet eyes, and ducked his head nervously as Jeongin approached. "Hi," he said. "Thank you for letting me in."

"That's ok," Woojin said, so quietly Jeongin could barely hear. "Are you all right?"

Jeongin shrugged. "Something happened at home. I didn't want to be there right now."

Changbin's expression turned soft. "Feel free to stay here at least for the day. Talk it through with us, if you want."

"But I just- you don't even-"

"Know you? Nah. But Woojin said you looked kind of sad, and to be honest I agree," Changbin said. "So, sit down. Woojin, you ok here if I go to make him tea?" Woojin nodded silently, sitting down beside Jeongin, and Changbin disappeared into another corner of the cottage.

"What do you two do?" Jeongin asked. Woojin stared for a moment.

"Odd jobs for people," he said eventually. "We used to garden. The big house." He seemed reluctant to speak, words settling uncomfortably on his tongue.

"Where the Bangs lived?"

"Mm."

"The gardens must have been nice," Jeongin said awkwardly.

"The roses bloomed well," Woojin replied softly as Changbin entered the room.

"At the Bang's house?" he asked. "Oh, those roses were beautiful! Mostly due to Woojin's care." Woojin mumbled something, looking down shyly. "Don't be modest," Changbin said.

"Did you know Bang Chan?" Jeongin asked. "The heir? I heard a few rumours about him. That he never left the house."

Changbin snorted. "Oh, he left the house. He wasn't really allowed to, but Woojin and I snuck him out occasionally. He was a good friend of ours."

"We miss him," Woojin whispered. He looked sad, and Jeongin regretted bringing it up.

"So," Changbin said into the melancholy silence, "you want to talk about what happened at home?" It was a clear change in the direction of the conversation. Most likely to prevent further upset for Woojin, Jeongin thought.

"Someone..." Jeongin hesitated. "Someone I love made me feel like I was a burden. Like I'm someone they're forced to take care of rather than someone they care about. And someone else... didn't defend me."

Changbin paused, taking a long sip of his tea. "Are you sure they meant it?" he asked. "That someone you loved?"

"I don't know. I think he was trying to protect me. But he told me I couldn't take care of myself, that I needed them. It... hurt."

"Do you?" Woojin asked softly. "Need them?" Changbin smiled at him gently, seeming proud of him for joining in the conversation.

Jeongin looked down into his mug. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I need them. But not like that."

"It must be frustrating, to have them treat you like you can't keep yourself safe," Changbin said slowly. "But do you think they'd be so concerned with protecting you if they didn't care about you?"

Jeongin thought that over. Deep down, he knew Hyunjin and Seungmin did care for him. Perhaps not in the way he wanted, but they cared. It made sense that they would protect him. He knew they had almost lost each other as children. Perhaps they didn't want to lose him?

"That makes sense," he said quietly.

Changbin grinned. "Woojin and I are nothing if not sensible.” Woojin snorted, and Changbin shot him a look that might have been affronted if it weren’t so fond.  “I'm sure those people care for you,” he continued, mischief colouring his tone, "but maybe it can't hurt to make them miss you a little. We can easily make breakfast for three."

Jeongin considered the ache in his stomach, realising that the only thing he'd eaten since yesterday's lunch was an apple at Felix and Jisung's office.

"I'd be grateful if you could," he said awkwardly.

"No problem!" Changbin said, beaming, and Woojin smiled softly. Jeongin smiled back. Maybe he was lucky after all.

He stayed with Changbin and Woojin until just before noon, talking about gardening and city life. Woojin spoke little, mostly when encouraged by Changbin, but when Jeongin left he drew him in for a hug.

"You're welcome to come back if they upset you again," he said quietly, and when Jeongin thanked him, he meant it.

The city, when he made his way back, was buzzing, streets more crowded than usual. He had trouble pushing through the crowd, tripping over a pot of gold paint as he went. He ducked his head down and hoped no one had seen him spill it, not wanting to be noticed when the air felt so sticky and tense. It was difficult to breathe. He tried to duck into a space next to a newspaper stand, catching sight of a headline detailing the killing of two lower-class sorcerers by the police. Jeongin felt his chest tighten as he remembered the stories of riots in other cities. The tension that had been building here, more and more sorcerers showing themselves despite the law.

And when the first shot was fired, sparks glinting off gold triskeles, Jeongin folded himself into a corner between crates of apples and tried to block out the screams, hoping that Seungmin was wrong about his luck acting on everyone but him.


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small warning: the 'Descriptions of Violence' tag really steps up in this chapter.
> 
> (And can you tell 3In are my favourite to write? The other ships will get some time soon, I promise.)

After weeks of rising tension, the city finally fractured at noon. The number of sorcerers in the streets had been increasing day by day, all with the sign of a golden triskele shining at their lapel. It was the same sign that been painted on walls all around the city, creating unrest among the upper class sorcerers and non-magical folk of any calibre. Hyunjin and Seungmin had discussed the possibility of moving, finding somewhere in the countryside away from the hate and the increasing stories of violence against lower-class sorcerers. But Seungmin hadn't thought it would come to much here. Other cities, yes, but here? The presence of the magical elite was small here. The laws against magic were barely even enforced.

But today, there had been a murder. Today, in the early hours of the morning, a group of police officers had been witnessed beating two women to death, blood running into gold paint on the cobbles, a half finished triskele drying slowly on the wall above the bodies. Hyunjin had tried to avoid thinking about it. It hit too close to home. Since the news had started to spread, the  hum in the air had been enough to make Hyunjin feel sick. He had always been sensitive to atmospheres and auras, and today felt like the city was ready to shake apart.

Hyunjin sat bolt upright as the first sparks flew, some sorcerer growing frustrated by the police presence and taking a shot in their direction. It was starting. The noise erupted like a volcano, shouts of sorcerers and police alike, the screams of anyone caught in the crossfire. Hyunjin moved to the window, but turned his face away. He could already smell blood. It made his stomach turn, and he was braced on the wall when Seungmin burst in.

"Is Jeongin with you?" he asked frantically. "Did he come back?" Hyunjin's eyes widened. He hadn’t seen Jeongin since that morning. Since he had stormed out, leaving only guilt and bitter words and Seungmin’s anger behind. Hyunjin shook his head.

"Fuck," Seungmin said softly, staring blankly ahead. "That means he's fucking  _ out there _ , Hyunjin, in the middle of that, we- no, stay here, stay safe. This is my fault, I need to go and find him."

Hyunjin felt his chest seize with fear as Seungmin moved towards the door, and he reached out to stop him. He knew Seungmin hated it when he did this. It was cruel, to use magic to bind him. "Seungmin, no! You can't go out there, you'll get killed!"

"Trust me, Hyunjin, it's more likely to be him in the fucking morgue if I don't get him. Do you want to have to see that? Jeongin on a slab?"

Hyunjin didn't answer, throat too choked by tears to speak. He dropped the magic around Seungmin, leaving him free to move again.

"I thought so," Seungmin said savagely. "Stay here."

He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Hyunjin closed the shutters, doing his best to block out the sound of screams and fire, the glint of gold triskeles dulled by blood and dust. His thought his skull might fracture from the rage of it all. And this was only the start. He just had to hope the people he loved would survive it.

* * *

The city was a nightmare.

People flooded the streets, voices crying out in wild chorus, everything too fast and too bright and too real, and for a moment Seungmin couldn’t even move in the face of it. Jeongin was somewhere out here. Jeongin. Fragile and lovely and fierce and far too young to die today. Seungmin had to find him.

"Jeongin!" he shouted as he pushed through the streets, blocked at every turn by police and civilians, friend and foe divided only by a spark of gold on their lapel. He ducked as a fist swung close to him, connecting with the jaw of the man beside him. "Jeongin!" He felt a flicker somewhere in his sternum. Instinctively, he closed his eyes for the barest moment, trying to let it bloom. This had been a skill he'd developed as a child, a way of ensuring that he always knew where Minho and Hyunjin were in their dangerous world. He'd never done it with Jeongin; it felt strange at first, to take a skill so rooted in two people and force it to find another. But he felt it run through him then, as though a dam had broken. As though he had been meant to find Jeongin all along.

There he was. Three streets away. Blood and gold paint clotted in dust on his shoes.

Three streets. Seungmin looked around, following the pattern of the crowd, the bloody, bruising mess of magic and police truncheons that rested between him and Jeongin. He could manage three streets. He set off, trying to stick close to the buildings until he realised it made him an easy target for anything thrown across the street. A shard of pottery caught his eyebrow, sending a trickle of blood into his eye, and he hissed in pain as he tried to blink it away. He ducked into an alleyway, stepping over the body of a man. In the shadows of the alley, Seungmin couldn't tell if he was dead or alive, but he could see the shine of a triskele on the ground beside him. He felt the urge to stamp on it. But he had to get to Jeongin. If he was right, this alley led to the street next to him. It should be quieter there, away from the main body of the riot. Hopefully, that meant Jeongin was safe.

It took him another half an hour to find his way to Jeongin. Every street he tried to conquer was blocked, and Seungmin thought he might have managed to end up with a few broken ribs for his trouble when he pushed a little girl out the way of a group of civilians wielding baseball bats. It struck him, at some awful moment, that Jeongin hadn't moved in that entire stretch of time. He was still on that same street, in the same place, and Seungmin's head started supplying him with an endless stream of images of him dead in the dirt, stiff with dried blood and rigor mortis. He had to pause to vomit against a wall, hunkered down to avoid being struck, when he caught sight of a woman with her head caved in, one eye intact and staring blankly upwards, and his mind replaced her face with another, all sharp lines and bright eyes.

The riot was dying down by the time he managed to reach Jeongin. The streets had cleared somewhat, filled with frantically called names rather than shouted slogans. Seungmin hated that he was among them.

"Jeongin!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "Jeongin!" No reply. "Jeongin!" His voice merged with that of the other people combing the streets, a mournful rhythm like church bells as they called slightly out of time with each other.

"Seungmin?" The voice came from somewhere on his right and he whirled around, breath catching in his throat. Jeongin was curled under an awning, surrounded by crates of fruit, long limbs folded into too small a space.

"Oh my god,  _ Jeongin _ ." Seungmin reached out, pulling Jeongin to his feet and holding him close, breathing in the scent of him. He’d been so convinced. So sure he’d never hold him again, after everything he’d said. "I thought you were dead," he said, voice muffled by the collar of Jeongin's jacket. "I thought you were dead and you thought you were a burden, Jeongin, you could never be that to us, you're everything, Jeongin,  _ god-" _

Jeongin stumbled against him, legs giving way beneath him, and Seungmin gently lowered him back to the ground with shaking hands. "Are you ok?” he asked frantically. “Do I need to get an ambulance?"

Jeongin shook his head. "I'm fine, Seungmin. I've just been sitting there for over an hour now. Cramp."

"Ok," Seungmin said. "Ok." He didn't know what else to say. He sort of thought he might start crying.

"Help me walk?" Jeongin asked, and Seungmin nodded, grateful for the distraction.

"Ok," he said again, and hooked Jeongin's arm around the back of his neck, helping him to his feet again. They walked home in near silence, only speaking when Jeongin assured Seungmin that the cramp had faded and he could walk by himself, and when he asked after the blood on Seungmin's face.

It wasn't until they got in the door, Hyunjin immediately throwing himself at both of them with a sob, that Seungmin found his words.

"I'm sorry," he said, watching Jeongin awkwardly rub Hyunjin’s back. "For earlier. Yesterday. Whenever. I just... I just want you to be safe, Jeongin. If you'd gotten hurt today..."

"Don't," Hyunjin said, the word saturated with pain. "We're not considering that again."

"I know," Jeongin said. "I know that you want to keep me safe. But I can make my own decisions about what I'm capable of."

Seungmin sighed. "I know that. Which is why I'm going to ask you - not tell you, or order you - to not get involved with Minho anymore. Yes, he's our best friend, but he is  _ dangerous _ , Jeongin. What you saw out there today? That's the kind of work Minho does. If you still want to help him with this plan of his, I won't try to stop you, but... please.  _ Please  _ stay away from him as best you can."

Jeongin gave him a long look. "I'll think about it," he said softly, and disappeared up the stairs without another word, leaving Hyunjin’s hand trailing where it had been gripping his wrist. Seungmin dropped heavily into the armchair, closing his eyes. He listened to Hyunjin sigh before he began to move around in the quiet, opening and closing cupboards and walking over to him.

"It's not pretty, you know," Hyunjin murmured, starting to dab at his forehead with something that burned, "when you get jealous." Seungmin could hear the faintest trace of a tremble in his words. He must have been so afraid, waiting alone for them to come home.

"I'm not jealous, Hyunjin."

"You are. I know you love Minho to pieces, but you look like you want to tear him apart when he so much as smiles at Jeongin."

"...He doesn't just smile at him. He does  _ that  _ smile. You know the one I mean."

"I know the one you mean," Hyunjin said, and Seungmin could hear the amusement in his voice. He opened his clean eye.

"I love you," he said quietly. "So much. And I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"It's alright, scrap," Hyunjin said, the childhood pet name softening Seungmin's heart even further. He caught Hyunjin's wrist gently, kissing the heel of his hand.

"It's not. You were already worried, and upset, and I made it worse."

"Fine," Hyunjin said with a sigh. "It wasn't alright. But I forgive you for it anyway." He leaned in before Seungmin could protest further, kissing him slowly until the shock and horror of the day began to melt away. "I'll talk to Jeongin," he said, close to Seungmin's lips, "about Minho. I'll tell him the story, at least, and let him make up his own mind."

Seungmin sighed. "I love him. Minho. I really do, but... he was never like us. He always wanted more than just to get by, and..." he looked down, away from Hyunjin's eyes. "I don't want Jeongin caught up in that. I don't want Minho to whisk him away and we never see him again." He left some things unsaid. He and Hyunjin hadn't talked about Jeongin yet, the way they each looked at him, the way Hyunjin muttered his name from time to time in his sleep, and Seungmin sometimes couldn't keep his gaze away. They had known each other long enough to know that whatever it was, it was shared, something to join them tighter rather than force them apart.

"I don't think Jeongin's going anywhere," Hyunjin replied, kissing him again before he turned his attention to Seungmin's eye. "Let me get some water. I'll clean this for you."

"Thank you. I love you."

"I love you, too. Don't ever go out during a riot again."

"Not even for Jeongin?"

"...only for Jeongin."

* * *

Jeongin was curled in bed, back to the door, when Hyunjin entered his room. He rolled over at the sound of Hyunjin's footsteps, offering the faintest smile. His aura changed with it, strands of sunshine winding into the dark, bruised blue surrounding him.

"Hi," Hyunjin said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Jeongin sat up and shrugged. "No permanent damage done," he said quietly. "Is Seungmin ok?"

Hyunjin nodded. "He'll be fine. He just needs time for the scrapes to heal." He paused. "I wanted to talk to you about Seungmin, actually. Well. About Minho, really."

"Minho?" A hint of defensiveness coloured his tone. Hyunjin had to tread lightly here.

"Seungmin meant it,” he began. “About Minho not protecting you. Minho isn't... He isn't good. And you are. Seungmin is... Scared of that. He's scared of Minho picking you up and sweeping you away like he did with us. Because we didn't-" he sighed, running his hands back through his hair as he struggled to find the words. "I don't want to say we didn't come out of it well. Minho saved us, but... he left. And that broke us a little."

"Why don't you just tell me what happened?" Jeongin asked quietly. He patted the bed beside him, and Hyunjin gratefully took a seat, their knees knocking against each other a little.

"It's hard to word it right,” Hyunjin said slowly. “I don't want you to see Minho as a villain here. He's our best friend, he's everything to us, but..." He sighed. "I'll start from the beginning. Neither Seungmin nor I had come from families with any magical ability. We were both thrown out once we started exhibiting power, and we found each other on the streets. You know that much. But what we haven’t told you is that where I had been using magic to survive, levitating apples or loaves of bread off stalls, Seungmin... Seungmin had been pushing his down. It was causing him nothing but trouble, he thought." Hyunjin closed his eyes, trying to ignore the shifting colours of Jeongin's aura. He didn't like thinking about this. "He was starving, and sick, and spending all his energy repressing magic. You know how it is when you're little. It just happens. You can't really stop it. But Seungmin... Seungmin wouldn't let it out. He thought he could go home if he fixed it."

"That's horrible," Jeongin whispered. "Is that why- he told me when we met that he was a sorcerer, but he doesn't-"

"He can't. He can't use magic consciously like you or I can. But it's still there. It's how he found you today, I think. If he connects to someone strongly, his magic sort of wraps them up so he can find them again." Hyunjin sighed. "I'll come back to that.  I started looking after Seungmin. He'd watch me do magic to steal food or medicine and he'd just look at me with... horror. And wonder. Like he was so glad he'd found someone like him, but so afraid of magic. I promised I'd always stay with him. Take care of him." He smiled softly. "He was so small back then. That's why Minho and I call him scrap, did you know?"

"That's cute," Jeongin said, laughing a little.

"Minho found me first," Hyunjin continued. "I had started levitating jewellery off a market stall. Not to steal, but to distract the owner enough that I could sort through his cash register. Minho caught me afterwards. I tried to get away until he showed me that he could do magic too. He told me he could help me, keep me safe. I kept telling him I couldn't go with him, but the police showed up before I could explain about Seungmin, and we just ran. He took me to an abandoned pigeon loft he was living in. I said I had to go back, but he told me it wasn't safe.” Hyunjin sighed. Jeongin’s hand twitched slightly, as though he wanted to reach out. Hyunjin wished he would.

“He was right. I would have gotten myself arrested if I'd headed back out there. So I spent the night in the loft, and told him about Seungmin the next morning. We went out to look for him, but he had moved in the night. Trying to find somewhere safe, I suppose. It took us all day to find him. Curled up in an alleyway. He’d tried to beg for food and had been thrown out into the street along with a bucket of water. He was bruised, and shivering, and hungry, and so scared. He wouldn't let go of my hand. Hid behind me when Minho tried to talk to him." Hyunjin's voice dropped. "That was when he started clinging onto me in his sleep. He still won't let go of me at night." Jeongin's aura changed at that; a murky, jealous green blurred and mingled with a bright gold Hyunjin didn't know how to read. "He got used to Minho. He'd watch him teaching me magic, how to read the tarot and do little tricks people would pay to see. He tried to join in sometimes, but even at that point his magic was too far gone. He gave up trying after a few weeks."

"Where did Minho learn to do those things?" Jeongin asked.

"He told us there was a place where they taught people to steal and play tricks with magic. He'd attended for a while, snuck out of the house while his parents were out working, but once the teachers had realised he could read minds they'd tried to keep him. He ran away. Didn't want to be stuck there.  For a while, the three of us were fine. Minho and I would steal, or cheat, and Seungmin would make what money he could running errands for gentlemen. Delivering letters to mistresses, that sort of thing, and manual labour at the docks when he got older." He sighed. "Obviously things weren’t perfect. We still lived in fear of being caught. I did get caught, once. It didn’t… it didn’t end well.” He stopped. Now wasn’t the time to tell Jeongin about that.

“And then Minho came home one day, holding a gold triskele badge and saying things were going to change. That people like us would be free, that what happened to the three of us would never happen to anyone again. And things did change, I suppose. Minho disappeared more and more often, for longer periods of time, sometimes coming back with bruises or fire in his eyes. Things were moving on, he said. He was going to be part of something great, and we would see that change. It was for us." He looked down, unable to meet Jeongin's eyes for this. "But then one day, he just didn't come back. Didn't leave a note or anything. We thought he was dead for a good while. Grieved for him. Seungmin especially. The night before Minho left, Seungmin had told him that he should be home more, helping us survive rather than chasing a revolution, and Minho... Minho had disagreed. I think Seungmin thought that he was the reason Minho disappeared. It’s how he found out that he knew where Minho was; I think he tortured himself to the extent that something in his magic finally clicked into place. He woke me up in the middle of the night in hysterics, saying that he knew where Minho was. He kept doing it after we realised it was genuine. Lying awake at night, using the remnants of his magic to find Minho wherever he was in the world and describing it to me. I made him stop, eventually."

"How?"

Hyunjin laughed softly. "Might have told him to focus on the person right in front of him for once. Might have kissed him." He snorted. "Maybe it was good that Minho wasn't around then. Seungmin and I liked public displays of affection in our early days."

"Is that why you don't think he's good?” Jeongin asked. “Because he left you?" Hyunjin could hear the threads of doubt in his voice.

“Not just that. He found us again, two years later. We’d moved. Had a proper flat to ourselves. Picked our lock and helped himself to a drink and greeted us when we came home like he wasn't someone who'd left two fifteen year olds alone in a pigeon loft just so he could chase some chaos. He told us everything he'd done in those two years. Painting triskeles on walls, inciting people like Seungmin and I to riot. Burning houses. Only empty ones, he promised.” Hyunjin stopped for a moment. “I still don't know if I believe that,” he admitted softly.

“I remember Seungmin asking him what had happened to the other kids he'd taken under his wing, the politicians he'd blackmailed into changing their tune on magical classes. And he didn't know. He couldn't tell us what had become of those people, Jeongin, because he just  _ didn't care _ . And that's why Seungmin wants you to stay away. Minho lights a fire in people, and when it starts burning them up from the inside he just vanishes." Hyunjin reached out, laid a hand on Jeongin's cheek. It was too intimate a touch, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to draw back. "We couldn't bear to see that happen to you, Jeongin. Minho broke Seungmin badly enough, I can't- I don't want to see what you'd be if you got attached and he just left you."

Jeongin looked at him, eyes wide and confused. "But he's your best friend," he said softly. "How is he your best friend?"

"Because he was with us for almost ten years," Hyunjin explained. "He was our brother, he took care of us. That's not something you throw away." He sighed. "And he never meant to hurt us. He just... doesn't think. But he always comes back for us. Once he finds people he can be loyal to, he sticks with them. That's valuable these days."

"So you think he's good at heart?"

"I think he has good intentions," Hyunjin said carefully. "And I know that tells you very little, but I don't want you to think I'm trying to sway your opinion of him. Because I'm really not, Jeongin. I just wanted to let you know what happened with him and us."

"Thank you," Jeongin said thoughtfully. "I think I understand a little better."

Hyunjin smiled. "Good," he said. "I'd better go and check on Seungmin's eye." He rose from his spot on Jeongin's bed, heading for the door.

"I'm sorry," Jeongin said. "If I scared you today."

"You did," Hyunjin admitted. "But I knew Seungmin would find you."

"Did he- he can-?"

"Find you? Yes." Hyunjin paused at the door. "He cares about you, Jeongin," he managed to say. "We both do." He stepped out and shut the door before Jeongin could reply. He leaned heavily on the opposite wall, wondering what he would have seen in Jeongin's expression if he'd cared to look then. The thought of it made his head spin, and when he pressed a palm to his chest, his heart was beating hard enough to make a drumbeat.

* * *

"Got something!" Jisung shot up from where he had been lying behind the desk, a newspaper clipping clutched in one hand. "Where did you put that death certificate? The maid?"

Felix rubbed his eyes. It was around two in the morning, and the two of them were sustained by the strongest coffee Jisung had ever got it into his head to brew. 'Double your efforts,' Minho had told them the night before, when he returned from the Bang’s house. 'The ball is rolling. We need to clear the way.'

"Um," Felix said, "over there. By the lamp."

Jisung scrambled to his feet, hair falling in his eyes as he shuffled through the papers on the end table Felix had pointed out.

"Yup. Got it. These two. These two match." He sat down and waved them in the air, one in each hand, and Felix picked his way across the room to crouch beside him. "The name on the death certificate of this employee matches this article. A maid. Hanged herself from the apple tree after her baby died. And look at that. The body was discovered by groundskeeper Kim, out for a walk with his young son, Kim Woojin."

Felix gripped his shoulder. "Woojin. The teenage groundskeeper fired just before Chan's parents died. Do you think it’s relevant?"

Jisung shrugged. "I don't know. Don’t know if it matters. But at least we have something to ask him now. A reason to go visit him and see if he knows anything about Chan. A suspicious death is a suspicious death, twenty-one years old or not."

Felix grinned. "Tomorrow, then? Won't take us long to think of a few things to ask."

"It won't," Jisung agreed. "And in the meantime..." He put the papers to one side, pinning them down with an empty glass from the table before he slid his hands into Felix's hair, drawing him closer. "I think we should celebrate."

Felix grinned, letting Jisung manoeuvre him so that he was sitting across the reporter's knees. He pulled Jisung's glasses carefully off his nose, leaning in close.

"I think you're right," he said, and felt Jisung smile against his lips.

* * *

Hyunjin couldn't sleep. It was maybe four in the morning and he was still lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering about the day. Wondering about Jeongin. Hyunjin didn't think he'd ever seen him so angry as he had last night. And he'd only seen Seungmin that afraid once in their lives.

He shifted a little, watching the shadow of Seungmin's face in the dim light. They needed to talk about this. They needed to talk about Jeongin.

"I can feel you staring at me," Seungmin said softly.

"Sorry," Hyunjin whispered. "I didn't know you were awake."

"Mm." Silence settled briefly between them. "Are you ok?" Seungmin asked.

Hyunjin sighed, reaching for Seungmin's hand. "Thinking about Jeongin," he admitted.

"Me too." He felt Seungmin shift a little further away, and his heart sank. He waited. Seungmin took a breath, unsteady and fearful. Hyunjin let him compose himself. Sometimes with Seungmin, he'd learned, it was best just to wait.

"I care about him," Seungmin said eventually. It sounded like the words pained him, pulled out of his throat against his will on a string. "A lot. And not- not like I care about Minho... I care about him like I care about you. And I don't love you any less, Hyunjin, I swear, I could never not love you but he’s just-”

"Hey," Hyunjin murmured soothingly, pulling him closer. "Hey, it's ok, scrap. I know. I understand." Seungmin was almost hyperventilating now, repeating the words  _ I love you, I love you  _ over and over again. "I love him, too," he said gently as he rocked Seungmin back and forth. "I love him and I still love you just the same, Seungmin, I promise you."

"What do we do?" Seungmin asked, voice shaking and arms wrapped around Hyunjin like a vice.

Hyunjin kissed the top of his head. "We love each other," he said, "like we always have. And if he wants it, we love Jeongin, too. It's that simple."

"It doesn't feel simple," Seungmin whispered.

"It doesn't," Hyunjin agreed. "But even if he doesn't feel the same-" Seungmin stiffened in his arms as though the thought pained him. "-we still have each other. We'll always have each other."

"Always," Seungmin agreed, and he turned in Hyunjin's arms to kiss him slowly, as though sealing a pact that would ensure they were bound, no matter what came their way.


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soft idiots (WooBin), and a little history on Minho and Jisung! Next update will be Monday.
> 
> Stream Gone Days!

The groundskeepers' house was small and neat, resting in the shadow of a hill just outside the city. Roses curled around the door, blooming bright as blush, and Felix's heart fluttered as Jisung smiled at the sight of them. Felix had awoken him with soft kisses to his fingertips and palms that morning, glowing in the sunlight, fresh rain refracting patches of light around their room. Jisung had laughed, and Felix could have stayed there forever. But last night's discovery remained pinned under a glass on their office floor, and it wouldn't wait for them to while away the day with kisses.

So, here they were, knocking on a wooden door wreathed in roses, stepping back as it was answered by a small, stocky man whose smile faded at the sight of them.

"Kim Woojin?" Jisung asked. The man shook his head.

"Seo Changbin," he said. "Woojin's inside. Can I ask who you are?"

Jisung held out his hand for Changbin to shake. "Han Jisung. This is my partner, Lee Felix. We're investigating an incident that happened a very long time ago up at the manor house. Mr Kim's father was a witness."

Changbin shook their hands cautiously, tilting his head to gesture that they should come inside.

"Woojin!" he called. "A couple of guys want to talk to you!" He turned back to Jisung and Felix. "He's not the most talkative around new people. He's better with me around, so I'll sit in, if that's ok?"

They both nodded as another man walked into the small sitting room Changbin had led them to. He was a good deal taller, shoulders broad and strong just as Changbin's were, but he gave off a gentler impression somehow; like the roses round the door, Felix thought.

"Kim Woojin?" Jisung asked, and he inclined his head a little. "We're here to ask you a few questions about the incident with the suicide of the maid at the manor house, just over twenty years ago now. Your father was the groundskeeper at that time, correct?"

Woojin nodded. "He was," he said, almost too soft to hear. "I was only a baby." Having barely any response to take note of, Felix watched as Changbin placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. The poor man was shaking a little. He really was shy.

"You were out with your father when he discovered the body, correct?"

"Yes. I don't remember anything, though." He seemed like he was about to say more, but stopped, looking down at the floor. Changbin squeezed his shoulder, and he began to speak again. "I only remember what he told me about it."

"And what was that?" Jisung asked gently. Changbin smiled a little at his tone. He liked it, Felix thought, when people were gentle with Woojin.

"That she must have gone out in the middle of the night. That she had gone a little mad after her baby died. She insisted he wasn't dead. That he had been taken away." Felix glanced at Jisung, wondering if they were thinking the same thing, and Woojin seemed to panic a little. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you didn't," Felix said reassuringly as Changbin's posture shifted, apparently unconsciously, into something more defensive. "That just fits with some other things we've heard. Thank you. That could be very useful." Both Woojin and Changbin relaxed a little.

"Did your father ever tell anyone else this?" Jisung asked.

"I don't think so. Just me and my mother.”

"You both worked up at the manor house, didn't you?" Felix asked. Changbin nodded.

"I arrived when I was about twelve,” he explained. “My father had been close with Woojin's, so when my parents died I was sent to the Kims. They took good care of me. Woojin took good care of me."

Felix shot him a smile. "It's nice that you've stayed so close."

Changbin smiled back. "Some bonds don't break," he said, and it sounded to Felix a little like a love letter.

“Were the Bangs good employers?” Jisung asked.

Changbin shrugged. “They paid us. We had somewhere to live. They weren’t awful, but they weren’t anything special.”

“Did you see them much?” Jisung asked.

“We heard they were a little odd,” Felix clarified. “Sort of reclusive.”

“That was strange, to be honest,” Changbin said. “They were reclusive, but they were different before their son was born apparently. Always throwing parties.” He snorted. “I think they realised they actually had to take care of their baby.”

“Rich people,” Jisung lamented sarcastically, and Changbin laughed.  "We'll be out of your hair now," Jisung said. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You, too," Changbin said politely, and Woojin disappeared back into the kitchen as he showed them to the door.

The roses bobbed a little as the latch clicked behind them, and Felix turned his face towards the sun. Jisung listed theories about the maid and her baby as the two of them strolled back along the country lane towards the city, but Felix wasn't really listening. He was thinking of the way Woojin had smiled at Changbin, the way Changbin's hand had rested so gently on his shoulder the whole time.

He stopped in the middle of the road, Jisung walking a few steps ahead before he realised Felix was no longer beside him.

"I mean, they had to get a baby from  _ somewhere  _ if it wasn’t theirs- Felix?"

"Have I told you that I love you?" Felix asked.

Jisung stared at him, apparently a little alarmed by the suddenness of the question. "No," he said after a moment. "You haven't."

"Well, I do," Felix said, suddenly a little embarrassed. "I know we just went from being friends to being… something else without ever talking about it, but… I love you." The honeysuckle in the hedgerows bobbed in the breeze, butterflies adorning it briefly, as the two of them stood still in the middle of the road, clouds shading the sun and fading their shadows.

"I love you, too," Jisung said eventually. "Probably more than you know."

"Good," said Felix, setting off at a brisk walk. "I'm glad that's settled."

Jisung laughed as he ran to catch up with him, taking him by the arm and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. "Never change, Felix."

Felix grinned. "I'll do my best." The sun broke through the clouds again as they walked, their shadows blending into one, and the day felt perfect.

* * *

Two days after he met Minho, Chan was starting to wonder if he hadn't dreamed the entire experience. All evidence of Minho and Jeongin's visit was gone; the candelabra replaced on the table, plates and wine glasses cleaned, any faint footprints on the drive vanished. Could that happen? Could he hallucinate something so vivid as the shape of Jeongin's eyes, Minho half illuminated and half cast in shadows by a single flame resting on his palm? He'd heard stories of sorcerers going insane, power too much for them to handle. It was a little arrogant, he decided, to include himself in that. He didn't think his strength as a sorcerer was anything extraordinary.

Minho had seemed to think so, though. He had seemed amazed that Chan could feel the magic wrapped around this house. But Chan had always felt that. He hadn't thought it meant much.

He sighed, curling up into his armchair. He felt...lonely. It was new, loneliness. Or perhaps it wasn't and he'd just never realised what it was until he had the pleasure of some company. He could talk to the spirits, he supposed. But they would know, some paranoid part of him said, that someone had been here. And Chan wanted to keep Minho a secret.

He thought about that for a while. Maybe it was better to bite the bullet, he decided. If he never spoke to them, he'd never know if they were aware of Minho's existence. If they were, he didn’t have any reason to feel guilty. Travellers had required shelter from the rain, and he had offered it.

He would speak to his aunt, he decided. His mother's younger sister had died just after he was born, when she was only a little older than he was now, making her the most likely to see the idea of a secret friend as something fun rather than something to be punished.

It didn't take him long to gather the necessary items, heading out to the stone pavilion hidden in the gardens. It had always been his favourite place, veiled in honeysuckle and bindweed, dragonflies flitting in and out from the stream.  Carefully, he sketched the necessary symbols in chalk, lighting the candles around a photo of his aunt. He waited.

When she appeared, it was as though she had simply ducked through the honeysuckle and into the pavilion. She didn't appear at all ghostly; the wind pulled stray hairs from her carefully arranged curls at her temples and fluttered her dress about her calves; she even shivered.

"What a ghastly day," she remarked. Chan smiled. It was good to hear her voice. It was so like his mother’s. "You couldn't have waited until it was a little brighter?"

Chan laughed a little. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just... wanted someone to share a rainy day with, I suppose."

His aunt's face softened. "Understandable. How is everything? The old place still standing?"

"It is," Chan confirmed. "I think it creaks more than it used to, but it's not showing any signs of falling down."

"No," his aunt said. "I should imagine it isn't. You always were exceptionally talented, after all." There was something odd in her tone, delicate and secretive, but Chan didn't really take it to heart. She'd always been like that, his mother had said. A powerful sorcerer, touched by a little oddness. It was like being in a room with someone who was actually miles away, she'd said, to be around her sister.

The conversation shifted to inane matters after that, the odd amount of rain for the summer, the late bloom of the roses. At no point did Chan's aunt give any indication that she was aware that another presence had been within the grounds, and by the time the candles burned halfway down Chan was sure that she didn't know about Minho He didn't tell her. It felt like something he wanted to keep to himself for some reason.

It was the wind that ended their conversation. A particularly strong gust cut through the vines, snuffing out the candles, and his aunt disappeared without a sound. With a sigh, Chan gathered the candles and chalk, tucking the picture of his aunt into his pocket. He'd wait until the sun shone to summon her again, he decided. She'd like that.

* * *

Changbin couldn't sleep. Woojin had been strange and silent all day after the reporters left, not even singing along to the wireless when Changbin turned it on after dinner. It wasn't unusual for him to be quiet, but it was unusual for him to be quiet around  _ Changbin.  _ They had known each other for almost seven years now, and once he'd realised that Woojin was just cripplingly shy and did not, in fact, despise him, Changbin had always been patient, always taken the time to wait for Woojin to say what he needed to. Eventually, Woojin had started to speak with no inhibitions around him, laughing at Changbin's jokes louder than anyone else. But only if they were alone. Around other people, Woojin still shut right down. Changbin knew he shouldn't enjoy that. He should be encouraging Woojin to make other friends, not hoarding that laugh, that smile, that soft voice like a dragon with gold. Chan had been a start. Three of them had gotten on well. But Chan's father, aging and paranoid, had sent them away.

Changbin sighed. He didn't like the thought of Chan alone.  _ He  _ didn't want to be alone. Not tonight.

He swung his legs out of bed, padding across the corridor to Woojin's room and knocking softly.

"Come in," came the gentle reply. Woojin had the curtains open, tree-cut moonlight patterned across the floor and over his skin, and it took Changbin a moment to muster a smile. Woojin was already pulling back the covers of his bed so that Changbin could climb in, tucking them around him to keep the warmth in.

Woojin's bedroom was tiny; it had initially been a mid-sized store cupboard, but the two of them had loved the little cottage so much they'd decided to repurpose it. From Changbin's point of view, he ended up climbing into Woojin's bed often enough that Woojin should simply move into the larger bedroom with him, but he wouldn't say that out loud. They had been friends for seven years, and suggesting that they should permanently share a bed was the kind of comment that would make or break a relationship like that. Changbin was inclined to think that Woojin didn't quite feel the way he did, anyway.

He sighed as Woojin pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the taller man's waist.

"What's wrong?" Woojin asked, voice somehow seeming too loud in the moonlight.

"I couldn't sleep," Changbin replied. "I was thinking about Chan." It wasn't the whole truth, but it was something. "Do you think he's ok up there?"

Woojin hesitated. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "Sometimes I think he's fine by himself, without his parents pushing him to get married anymore. Other times I think he'll be making that pressure worse all by himself."

"I think about visiting him sometimes," Changbin admitted. "Just knocking on the door. But I get scared. It's been so long, and he might have changed with only the dead to talk to."

He waited, feeling the warmth of Woojin's breath against his hair, hands moving slowly up and down his back.

"I'm scared of that, too," Woojin said softly. "That he's not the person we knew. I can't think of any sorcerer with that much power who's stayed so good."

"No," Changbin whispered. "Me neither."

They settled into starlit silence, Changbin allowing himself the small indulgence of pushing his face a little more into Woojin's chest. Woojin's hand on his back stilled for a moment and then resumed its slow movement.

"The people earlier seemed nice," Changbin said eventually. "They were kind to you."

"They were," Woojin agreed softly. "They were kind." He leaned down, pressing his nose into Changbin's hair. "Thank you for staying with me anyway," he said.

"I'll always stay with you," Changbin murmured. Sleep was coming quickly now he was in Woojin's arms, and he did his best not to think too hard about what that meant.

* * *

Woojin woke early, the dawn lighting up the backs of his eyes. He opened them slowly, registering the warmth beside him. Somehow, Changbin had managed to climb over Woojin in his sleep, wriggling down so that he was pressed against the wall and Woojin had to lie close enough to hold him there to make sure he didn't roll off the side of the bed. Woojin smiled. It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up on the floor, Changbin sprawled across his narrow bed.

Woojin shifted a little closer. He knew Changbin wouldn't mind. They shared a bed often enough for it to be commonplace to wake half-tangled, Changbin's breath often brushing Woojin's collarbones, Woojin's arm around his waist. Woojin almost found it strange to wake up alone, now. Would it be acceptable, he wondered, on nights where Changbin didn't come to him, to go to Changbin? To knock softly on his door, curl close in his bed, wake up in a room that wasn't his? Maybe things would be different if he woke up there. Maybe he could say the words that choked him.

"I'm in love with you," he'd say. Nothing fancy. No poetry about Changbin's face, his laugh, his kindness. Woojin would just tell Changbin that he was in love with him. Perhaps Changbin would say it back. Perhaps, after all these years, Woojin would lean in and kiss him.

But this morning, they were in Woojin's bed, the sunlight flooding in and Changbin stirring.

"Good morning," Woojin said softly, and laughed as Changbin burrowed beneath the covers. "We have to get up. We have to tend the roses at the house down by the river, remember?"

"Roses are your thing," Changbin whined, trying to escape down the bed as Woojin pulled back the covers.

"But I need you there with me," Woojin said softly, finally pulling the covers all the way off the bed to reveal Changbin curled in a ball at the bottom. Changbin smiled.

"Fine," he said. "I'll get up. But only for you."

"Not for the sake of those poor roses?"

"Nope. Just you."

And Woojin felt the words on the tip of his tongue. "I'm in love with you," he'd say. But he didn't.

* * *

"I'm heading up again tomorrow," Minho announced over lunch. The atmosphere after the riots two days ago was strange. Hyunjin had rearranged the chairs at the dinner table so that his and Seungmin's were huddled closer to Jeongin's, as though the two of them didn't want to be far away from him. Minho wasn’t sure why. He had raised an eyebrow at Jeongin when he sat down, but the younger man offered no response.

"Tomorrow?" Seungmin asked.

Minho nodded. "In the morning. It's been a few days since we first met. I think that's a decent space of time."

Hyunjin nodded. "You'll go alone?" he said. It barely sounded like a question. Jeongin shot him a look.

"I will," Minho confirmed. "Your lucky charm got me in there, but I can manage by myself from now on. This isn't about luck anymore."

"What is it about?" Seungmin asked tersely. His hand twitched closer to Jeongin's, but made no move to take hold of it. Minho stayed out of his head.

"Trust," Minho replied. "Or the illusion of it. And that will take a little time, but I think it's best if I work alone from now on. But if he asks after you, Jeongin, would you be prepared to help me again?"

"I would," Jeongin said calmly. Seungmin inhaled slightly, and Hyunjin bit his lip as though both were trying not to speak. Jeongin stared dead ahead, not really looking at either of them. The atmosphere was tense, to say the least.

"You know," Minho said slowly, "this meal feels a little three versus one. I'll eat in my room and let you all... do whatever it is you do these days." He picked up his plate and headed through the living room to the stairs, unable to shut out the whispered conversation behind him.

"I thought you two were going to stop being so overprotective?"

"Just because we're not stopping you from helping him doesn't mean we have to like it."

"At least I'm not getting involved in any of that triskele shit!"

"What, are you telling us to count our fucking blessings because you're only putting yourself in one form of danger and not two?"

Minho scaled the stairs quickly, shutting his bedroom door behind him. He really did his best to stay out of their heads, but sometimes he thought it would do them good if he sat down and wrote out what each of them thought of each other. On a few occasions, he'd accidentally been in Seungmin or Hyunjin's head when Jeongin walked past, and their thoughts went positively pink with adoration at the sight of him. Seungmin’s thoughts would flicker wildly between his laugh, how beautiful he looked lost in thought, the way he moved. Hyunjin clung to his every word, watching the colours of his aura shift and change as he spoke. Jeongin was just as bad. Hyunjin would jump in exaggerated surprise, or Seungmin would widen his eyes to get what he wanted from Minho, and Jeongin would just  _ melt. _

Minho wasn't sure how much more of it he could take.

He sighed, putting his plate to one side and lying back on his bed. He wasn't exactly nervous for tomorrow. Just...anticipatory. It would all work out fine, he decided, even without Jeongin there. It wasn't like he hadn't done similar things before. Chan was just another rich boy; but this time, Minho was trying to con him out of his identity, not his money.

It would work, he told himself. It had to work, or things would never change for people like him and the three downstairs. Minho closed his eyes briefly. He should try to relax. He needed to be at his best tomorrow, after all.

* * *

The evening was growing late, dusk creeping into Jisung and Felix’s room. Jisung was sitting at the second-hand vanity, sorting through half-empty bottles of cologne, Felix sprawled on the bed. The silence between them had lasted a while, but it was companionable.

"Do you think we’re doing the right thing?" Felix asked softly, barely audible over the clink of glass. Jisung paused. That wasn’t a question he’d expected. He turned to see Felix staring up at the ceiling, expression difficult to read.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"With Chan. Revealing that he’s not the heir… it’ll do him some damage."

Jisung frowned. "Why does it matter? It’s not like you know him. And we’re doing it to help people, anyway."

"I know, but…" Felix sighed. "I don’t know. I know we can’t  _ not _ do this. But after talking to Woojin and Changbin about him… I just hope someone will be there at the end to pick up the pieces for him, you know?"

"I know," Jisung said softly. "Maybe it’ll be Minho," he joked.

Felix snorted. "I haven’t known him long, but I get the feeling he’s never picked up the pieces of anything in his life."

"He hasn’t," Jisung agreed.

"Where did you two meet, anyway?"

"A few cities away from here," Jisung said. "He needed an investigator to help him expose a politician for exploiting lower-class sorcerers to influence voters. I’d already been looking into it, and he wanted my information as well as my help." He gave a huff of laughter. "He pretty much tried to seduce me."

"He  _ what _ ?"

"Figured that was the best way to motivate me to help. He actually seemed confused when I said I’d help him free of charge. I think he’s too used to people never doing anything out of the kindness of their hearts."

Felix shot him a look, eyes sparkling. "You didn’t do it out of the kindness of your heart, Jisung," he accused.

Jisung laughed. "No, I did it because I was being paid to investigate the politician anyway and I thought Minho could help me get paid faster. He did. We stayed in contact after that."

Felix was silent for a moment, still looking up at the ceiling. "Did you consider it?" he asked softly. "With Minho?"

"What, when he-?"

"Yeah."

"I mean…" Jisung began. "I won’t deny that he’s a good looking guy, Lix. I thought about it. But it wouldn’t have meant anything with him, and I… "he sighed. "I know I might not seem like it, but I’m not that sort. It doesn’t appeal, to do that and not have it mean something. So sure, I thought about sleeping with him, but I decided I didn’t want to."  Felix said nothing in response. Jisung stood and wandered over to him, sitting on the bed beside him and stroking his hair. "You jealous?" he asked quietly.

"It’s  _ Minho _ ," Felix complained. "How can I not be jealous of that?"

"Felix," Jisung murmured. "I love you. Yes, Minho and I flirted a little. But that was years ago. And in case you’ve forgotten, I pined after you for  _ months _ . As soon as I saw you I thought you were beautiful, and then you spoke and you laughed and I was gone, Felix. I was yours pretty much from the start."

"I was yours, too," Felix whispered, staring up at him. "Almost from the moment you walked in."

"Then where’s the worry?" Jisung asked, leaning down to kiss him. He let his fingertips graze the skin of Felix’s stomach, heard his breath catch a little. "It means something with you, Felix," he whispered. "Every little thing means something."

"Go on then," Felix said, sliding his fingers into Jisung’s hair. "Show me what I mean to you."

"I’d need longer than one night to do that," Jisung told him softly as Felix undid his tie, letting it slide from around his neck.

"We have time."

"I suppose we do."


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another meeting between Minho and Chan! I hope you enjoy this chapter, as it's one that's quite close to my heart.
> 
> Next update in 2020!

Chan was in the glasshouse when he heard the knock on the front door. He panicked for a moment, aware that he was only wearing a workman's t-shirt tucked into his trousers. It was probably Minho at the door. He hoped it was Minho. Who else would visit him?

Still fretting over his state of undress and the dirt under his nails, Chan headed out to the front door, opening it cautiously. He had to hold back a smile when he saw Minho, dressed in an immaculately cut suit, the morning sunlight catching on his cufflinks and the edges of his smile.

Minho raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've just stepped off a boat," he remarked. Chan felt himself blush.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I was just taking care of some things in the glasshouse, it gets so hot in there..."

He looked up to see Minho smiling. "No need to apologise," he said. "It's good to see someone so high class willing to get their hands dirty. Besides, I grew up by the docks. I've seen worse sights than a man without his shirtsleeves." He winked, and Chan couldn't help but laugh, opening the door wider to let him in.

"The docks?" Chan asked. "Doesn't sound like the best place to grow up. I mean-" he paused, suddenly embarrassed. "I've never been. To the docks. But I've heard..."

"What you've heard is right," Minho said. There was no condescension in his voice, and Chan relaxed a little. "What were you doing in the glasshouse?"

"Just looking after a few things. Some of the babies need potting on."

"Babies?"

"Ah. Sorry. Baby plants. Orange trees. I wanted a few more so I took some seeds but they've gotten a little big." He rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to meet Minho's eyes. "I'm...I'm not so good at this as Woojin and Changbin were." He looked up, expecting derision or amusement. But Minho's eyes were sparkling and calm and interested, and Chan felt something he didn't think he had a name for.

"I'll help if you like," Minho offered.

"Thank you. It's... It's this way." Minho followed him, by his side but just a step behind. Chan heard him gasp when they reached the glasshouse, and had he not been so focused on opening the doors he would have turned, just to see a look of shock on someone so carefully composed, to see those eyes sparkling brighter than the panes of the glasshouse. But by the time he looked around, Minho had collected himself. He sent Chan a sharp smile.

"Impressive," he said. And Chan would admit, the glasshouse was a sight to see. The orange trees towered, branches laden with fruit and exotic flowers blooming on the ground beneath their canopies. Butterflies flitted between, species unknown to this land and its flora, colours bright as desert skies.

"Tell me how I can help," Minho said. He was shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to counteract the wave of heat that had hit them as the doors opened, and sweat was already starting to cast a glow over his skin. Chan looked away.

"There are only a few more to do," he said a little too loudly. “If you could hold the new trees in place while I fill the pots that would help me a lot."

"Sure," Minho said, and Chan felt himself smile a little.

The two of them worked in silence, Chan unsure of what to say and Minho seeming content to enjoy the quiet. Afterwards, Chan pulled a few oranges from the mature trees, taking a knife from the wrought iron table and slicing them into segments to eat.

"Thank you," he said. "For helping me. You barely even know me, and I just..." he trailed off, embarrassed.

"I offered, Chan," Minho said gently. "And you're right, I barely know you, but this is helping me get to know you." He paused, apparently hesitant, and Chan waited. "I want to help, Chan. I know I don't know much about you, but it sounds like you've been alone longer than anyone should be and I... I don't want you to think I'm pitying you, but it seems like you could use a friend."

Chan met his eyes, saw everything laid open there; vulnerability, worry, a hint of a challenge; like he was daring Chan to rebuke him for caring.  "I do," Chan said quietly. "Need a friend."

Minho smiled. "Then I'll be here to help you," he said, and Chan thought he could bask in the softness of that smile like a cat in the sun.

Once the two of them had washed the dirt and orange juice from their hands, Chan took Minho back to the library. He had seemed interested the first time they met, and even more so now. He was particularly fascinated by the endless books of the Bang family history, flitting through them as though they were little more than a newspaper.

"I love this sort of stuff," he explained. "Old family histories. I wish I could assemble mine."

"Could you ask your parents?" Chan asked.

"Dead, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry."

Minho flashed him a razor-blade smile. "Don't be," he said, and Chan wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He decided to change the subject a little.

"Could you see the sea? Growing up by the docks, I mean." He blushed, his question feeling awkward, as though he'd pushed it into the conversation. But Minho showed no signs of confusion at the sudden change of direction, looking up from the book he was holding with a smile.

"Yes," he said. "I saw the sea a lot. I'd sneak onto boats sometimes to see it closer, although I never stayed long for fear they'd carry me away." Chan laughed. It was a little difficult to imagine Minho being scared of anything. He seemed so confident. So full of life and fire. "Would you like to see it?" Minho asked softly. "The sea?"

Chan hesitated. The sea had been something he'd dreamed of since he was a child. A secret dream, hidden from his parents who told him again and again that he must stay, get married, continue the family legacy. "Yes," he said. It's something I've wanted for a long time."

Minho's smile turned sad. "I wish I could tell you I'd take you," he said, "but you really can't leave here, can you?"

"No," Chan said, almost in a whisper. "I can't."

Minho stayed a few more hours, letting Chan show him around the house and asking after faces in portraits and tapestries. Chan answered every question with ease. His family history had been drilled into him fairly thoroughly.

When Minho left in the late afternoon, the eyes of the portraits felt heavier than usual. What was it like, Chan wondered, to know nothing of your family? To be free of the weight of history, a kite set loose into the sky? It suited Minho. Chan didn't think it would suit him quite so well. He sighed. He supposed he'd never know.

* * *

The police had been following Hyunjin all day.

He’d left the house in the late morning, intending to pick up groceries now that the markets had reopened, and he’d seen the first flash of deep blue when he was barely a street away from home. They’d hardly been inconspicuous, he thought; or maybe he was more attuned to their presence than most, constantly aware of the shade of blue of their jackets in the corner of his eye. He’d done his best to dodge them, ducking into alleys or losing himself in crowds, but they’d kept reappearing, blue patches among the crowds like ink in water. Why were they following him? Had he not been careful? Had someone seen his last sleight of hand, or the tell-tale distance in his eyes when he looked at auras rather than people? Hyunjin cursed himself. Careful. Seungmin was always telling him to be careful.

He slipped between two market stalls. The police followed slowly. He was frustrating them, he could tell. Their auras were growing darker by the second. The way Hyunjin saw it, he had two options; keep trying to lose them and get home, risk making his situation (whatever it was) worse; or give in. Let them catch him and hope they didn’t know where Seungmin and Jeongin lived.

He went for the latter. The police had never been kind to lower-class sorcerers. He had to let them catch him, on the off chance that they didn’t know about Seungmin and Jeongin. Hyunjin wouldn’t lead them to the people he cared for most. He’d rather die.

A memory flashed through his head. Those blue uniforms above him, blending into the colour of the dusk, boots against his head and his mouth and his back, ugly words seeping into the wounds they’d made, a bright butterfly he’d conjured for a child fluttering around him until it was crushed to the cobbles.

Maybe death was what awaited him, if that experience was anything to go by.

_ Don’t think like that _ , he told himself.  _ Don’t think of Seungmin without you. _

Hyunjin turned a corner. Stopped. Waited.

“Hello there,” a voice from behind him called. "You led us on quite a chase." Slow. Casual. Hyunjin’s heart beat faster at the memory of boots and pain and bruises, Seungmin angrier than he’d ever seen him, Minho threatening to march into the police station and pull every thought from every head and leave them blank as puppets. What lengths would the two of them go to if he died today?

"We don’t want to hurt you, Mr Hwang. We require your assistance.” Hyunjin said nothing. "Turn around, Mr Hwang, or we should have to think that you were disrespecting our noble police force."

Hyunjin whirled around without even thinking. That tone. That tone of warning in the man’s voice. He wasn’t risking the consequences of that.  Now that he had turned, he was able to get a look at the man who had spoken. He was tall; taller than Hyunjin, with the look of a man who was used to power. The blue of his uniform reeked of it.

"Thank you, Mr Hwang," the police commissioner said with a slight smile. "Now, if you’d accompany me back to the station, we have some things to discuss."

* * *

As always, Minho headed straight for Jisung and Felix’s office once he’d left Chan’s house. He didn’t have significant news, really, but they’d asked for updates. As he drew closer, Minho reached gently for Jisung’s thoughts, peering in to check that he wasn’t… interrupting anything. It had happened once or twice before. Not with Jisung and Felix, but with Hyunjin and Seungmin, and other friends of his who happened to have decided that they’d found something in each other. It was always unpleasant. But Jisung’s thoughts were safe, muddled and chaotic and flinging from thought to thought as always.

"Jisung!" Minho called as he flew up the stairs. "Let me in!" The door opened just as he reached it, Jisung sighing on the other side.

"You could just knock, Minho," he pointed out.

"But then I’d have to wait," Minho said as he slipped past him into the office. "My way is so much more efficient."

"I can’t believe you almost slept with him," Felix said from the corner, not even flinching as Jisung slammed the door.

"Oh, he told you that story, did he?" Minho asked with a wink in Jisung’s direction. "Did he tell you how desperately upset I was when he said no?"

Jisung snorted. "You sighed and said it was a shame and that I was someone - and I’m paraphrasing - you’d actually  _ wanted  _ to screw for once."

"A high compliment, I thought."

"You’re insufferable, do you know that?" Jisung muttered, but it was good-natured, and Minho grinned.

"So what’s up?" Felix asked. "You went to see Chan?"

Minho nodded, spreading his arms wide. "You’re looking at the man who is  _ officially _ Bang Chan’s friend. No more excuses needed to go up and say hello. I’m simply a good person who wants to help assuage the crippling loneliness that comes with being rich."

Felix snorted, and Minho took a bow.

"That’s all the progress you’ve made?" Jisung asked. "Nothing useful about his family?"

"Oh, he knows his entire family history off by heart," Minho remarked, slumping into an armchair. "It seems like they hammered it into his skull. He’s proud of it, too."

"That’s kind of sad," Felix said. Minho made a vague humming sound in agreement. It wasn’t particularly sincere. "Come on, Minho. You’ve got to admit it kind of sucks for the guy to be so proud of his family history when it isn’t even his. We think he’s the son of a  _ maid _ , and he’s going on about centuries of ancestors."

"Just teaches people not to be so proud of something they didn’t even have a part in achieving," Minho pointed out airily. "But no, Jisung, I’ve not found out anything hugely useful. Can’t really read his mind, either. His thoughts go too fast, too…  _ big _ . I can’t pick anything out. I’ll need more time."

"Well, I suppose you have it. The riots have been getting worse in other cities, even if they’re just starting here. This sorcery problem isn’t going anywhere."

"Don’t call me a problem, Jisung."

"Oh, you’re  _ absolutely _ a problem."

"I love you too," Minho told him, smiling sweetly.

"What’s the plan now?" Felix asked. Minho felt a slight flicker of envy in his head. Perhaps he’d pushed too far there. He’d only intended to make a joke.

"Wait a little while," he replied earnestly. "A few days, probably. Keep going back, figure him out, make sure he’s comfortable around me. Even as trusting as he is, it won’t be a quick process."

Felix nodded slowly. "I think we’re prepared to wait," he said. "Gives us time to work through all the papers anyway, see if we can find anything as significant as the groundskeepers."

"Keep at it," Minho told him. "I’ll keep you updated on my side of things. But for now, I need to go home. I need a nap."

"Since when do you nap?" Jisung asked as he sprang out of the armchair and headed for the door.

"Since my dear, old friend needs to spend quality time with his lover," Minho half-sang, listening out for the splutter of Jisung and Felix’s thoughts as he headed down the stairs. They both settled into a happy, embarrassed hum, and Minho smiled. Love had never been something he’d particularly subscribed to, but if anyone was going to come close to making him believe it, it was those two. He sighed to himself. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was probably a good thing Jisung had turned him down back then. Things would have been considerably more awkward with Felix had he and Jisung actually been involved in some capacity.

Minho didn’t actually feel like going home, he realised. Didn’t feel like being around Hyunjin and Seungmin and Jeongin, the elaborate dance the three of them were engaged in. So he kept walking, heading uphill without realising it. He ended up back at the gates to the Bang house, imposing and cold amongst the woodland. Minho leaned his back against a tree, wondering what had drawn him here. Compulsion to keep exploring, he assumed, to see what secrets that place held. He sat down against the tree. He wouldn’t go inside. Had to leave it a few days before he showed his face again.

But it couldn’t hurt to stay a while, he decided.

* * *

Hyunjin could barely breathe in the police station. Even in the expanse of the commissioner’s office, all minimalist decoration and smooth wood, he felt like the walls were closing in. No one had spoken to him as he was escorted to the station, and he hadn’t dared to say a word to a single officer. That shade of blue was starting to make him feel sick, and he was worried he’d simply curl up into a ball on the ground if one of them so much as twitched in his direction.

"So, Mr Hwang," the commissioner said slowly. Hyunjin jumped in his chair a little. "You read auras, correct?"

Hyunjin hesitated. "I-" he began, "I don’t- I don’t know what you-"

"You’re a sorcerer, Mr Hwang. We’re well aware of it. You already have a recorded incident on file, and my men have been watching you for some time." A recorded incident. A child. A butterfly. Blood on his tongue.

"Are you going to arrest me?" Hyunjin asked shakily. He and Seungmin had written letters in case this happened, had written up their wills at the age of eighteen just in case something happened, just in case-

"No," the commissioner said. "We’re not going to arrest you."

"Then- why-?"

The commissioner sighed. "You’re aware of the riots, I presume. The regrettable deaths that took place."

_ Deaths at the hands of your men,  _ Hyunjin thought.  _ People who just want the right to exist, shot at and trampled into the pavement by your men. _ "I am," he said carefully.

"The sorcerers involved need to be identified and recorded, for the sake of police records and for identifying and informing the families. Both of the dead and those in custody. A system has been trialled in other cities of taking records of these sorcerers using a concept known as the ‘signature’ of a sorcerer. It relates to their specific tone of magic, and shows significant similarities between family members." He paused, watching Hyunjin carefully. "The most successful attempts at a standardised system have been made by sorcerers who read auras. So, I repeat. You read auras, Mr Hwang?"

_ "Why,"  _ Hyunjin wanted to say, _"s_ _ o you can hire the sorcerers you persecute to betray others? So you can ask the man your men killed as a teenager for his help?"  _ But this situation was delicate. He wasn’t safe here. There was a chance, he knew, if he pushed in the wrong direction, that he wouldn’t walk out. So, he thought of the letter he’d written to Minho. Full of jokes from their childhood and gentle prompts to settle down, find something more constant than a revolution to live for. There was so much love in that letter. So much hope. Minho would cry if he read it. And Minho so rarely cried.

"I do," he said.

"You know what I’m asking you, then?"

_ You’re asking me to betray the revolution I believe in. You’re asking me to help you label sorcerers like cattle, put them in a neat system so they’re never out of your sight. _ Hyunjin thought of his letter to Jeongin. It had been honest. He had said, in plain and simple terms, that he was in love with him. That Seungmin knew, and he shouldn’t feel guilty. He had told him to be happy. Jeongin would feel guilty anyway, he knew. He wondered if the two of them would ever learn to love each other without him there.

"I do," Hyunjin said carefully. The commissioner stared at him.

"Will you help us? We’d pay you well."

_ I don’t want money. I want every child with magic to live without fear of you. I want you to understand how it makes you feel sick to always hide who you are. I want to go back in time and tell my lover he doesn’t have to repress and internalise his power to the point it hurts him.  _ Seungmin. Seungmin’s letter had taken him hours. It was full of all the things Seungmin usually laughed at him for saying.

"You’re everything," Hyunjin had whispered to him under the covers, Seungmin’s breath on his neck. "I’d give up the sight of the sky for the rest of my days just to look in your eyes once."

"Stop it," Seungmin had said, biting his jaw gently. "You exaggerate too much."

"I don’t. I’d do anything for you. If you asked me to stay here with you, I’d never leave this room again. I’d die for you."

And Seungmin had kissed him, a long, slow kiss with his hands wound into Hyunjin’s hair as though to keep him anchored. Hyunjin had written that in his letter. That he’d die for Seungmin. And he could imagine Seungmin’s reaction, imagine him throwing the letter aside, screaming, Jeongin and Minho trying to hold him back as he pushed towards the door.

"I won’t help you," he said calmly. "I’m afraid it’s outside of my capabilities."

"How so?"

"I’m simply not capable of such a thing."

The commissioner stared at him in silence. The longer it stretched, the more it felt like a death sentence. Seungmin knew where his letters were. He’d tell Minho and Jeongin.  "Very well," the commissioner said eventually. "Thank you for your time, Mr Hwang. You may go."

"I’m sorry?" This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be escaping from this unharmed.

"You may go," the commissioner repeated. His tone was steady and level, and it cut through to Hyunjin’s bones.

Hyunjin didn’t wait to be told a third time. He rose from his seat and bowed carefully.

"Thank you, sir," he said. The door was heavy, and he panicked for a moment as he struggled to open it, fearing it was locked. But it swung ponderously back, and he let out the breath he had been holding. He thought he heard the commissioner chuckle.

After that, the walk through the precinct to daylight was short and painless. No one so much as looked at him. The blue of the uniforms blurred in his peripheral vision, blending into the auras of the officers, and he closed his eyes until he reached the door.

Once he was two streets away from the station, Hyunjin started running. He didn’t stop until he was home and the door firmly locked behind him.

"Hyunjin? Hyunjin, are you ok?" Seungmin asked, rising from his seat on the sofa and reaching out to him. Hyunjin stumbled into his arms, kissed him hard. He broke away once he started crying, Seungmin wiping away his tears with an expression of worry bordering on frantic. "Hyunjin. Talk to me. Hyunjin, are you ok?"

"I love you," Hyunjin managed to say. "I’ll never be able to tell you how much I love you."

"I love you too," Seungmin said, frowning. "I adore you, Hyunjin, but- tell me what’s wrong."

Hyunjin shook his head. "I can’t. I need- just don’t let go of me." A fresh bout of tears blurred his vision, and Seungmin pulled him closer to his chest.

"Ok," he said softly, voice trembling a little. "I won’t let go." And Hyunjin simply let himself be held until his mind went dark.

* * *

Minho returned home late, legs aching from wandering up and down hills. Seungmin was pacing when he stepped into the living room, Jeongin hunched on the sofa, and something about the distress emanating from both of them made his heart drop a little.

"You both look upset," he said slowly. "Did something happen to Hyunjin that I should know about?"

Jeongin shrugged helplessly. "Hell if we know," Seungmin said. He sounded like he was on the brink of tears. "He won’t  _ talk  _ to us Minho, he just ran in crying and shaking and now he’s curled up in bed and he won’t say a word and I don’t-"

"Hey," Minho said gently, shocked to see Seungmin breaking down like this. "Hey, scrap. Come here." He wrapped his arms around him, rocking him slightly from side to side. "Hyunjin might be fine, Seungmin. He cried once because he saw a bird die, remember? And the city’s been active lately, maybe the aura of it is just getting to him."

"No, Minho, he was so scared, you didn’t see him. I’ve never seen him like that. And now he’s just not  _ saying  _ anything, it’s like he’s dead, he won’t move or speak or-"

"Ok," Minho said soothingly. "Ok. Can I look in your head? To see what you saw?" Seungmin nodded, and Minho stroked his hair as he ran through his thoughts. They were frantic and muddled, switching between Hyunjin sobbing and lying silent like a spliced reel at the flicks. Minho looked closer, watched Hyunjin burst through the door, fall apart in Seungmin’s arms. "Ok, scrap. Thank you. I’m going to go and see if I can talk to him. You stay here with Jeongin, ok? I’ll be right back. I promise."

He felt Seungmin slowly release his jacket. Gently, Minho guided him to the sofa, sat him down beside Jeongin. He lingered until Seungmin folded himself up under Jeongin’s arm and Jeongin gave him a worried smile. He smiled back, and headed for the stairs.

Hyunjin and Seungmin’s room was dark, Hyunjin only a vague shadow on the bed. "Hyunjin?" Minho called softly. "Are you ok?"

No reply.

"Hyunjin. Talk to me." Minho circled around the bed, crouched down beside him. Hyunjin was staring blankly, eyes wide open. Minho felt as though he were looking through him. "Hyunjin?" No response at all. Not even a flicker of his eyelashes. Carefully, Minho reached out into his mind. He found nothing. Just empty darkness, concealing something at its centre. If Minho listened carefully, he thought he could hear it. The sound of creaking wood, low voices, typewriters tapping out a chorus. But that was all he could find.

"Oh, Hyunjin," he whispered. "What happened to you?" Nothing. Not even a blink. Minho leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, closing the door behind him as he headed back downstairs.

"Anything?" Seungmin asked as soon as he reappeared. "Did he say anything to you?"

Minho shook his head, crouching down to take Seungmin’s hands. "I’ve seen this before, Seungmin. He’s been scared, badly. His mind is… he’s shutting down. To give himself time to heal. He’ll most likely come back to himself tomorrow."

"What if he doesn’t?" Seungmin asked frantically. "Minho, what if he never comes back, what if he just stays like this?"

"He’ll come back, Seungmin," Minho promised him. "He’ll come back for you, ok? He wouldn’t leave you like that. And he’s already healing. I can hear bits of his mind. That shows he’s not totally gone."

Seungmin nodded tearfully, turning to press his face against Jeongin’s shoulder. Jeongin pulled him closer, looking pale and drawn and scared.

"We can take shifts keeping an eye on him," Minho said. His voice was shaking a little, he found. He was normally so good at staying calm. But something like this; seeing Hyunjin still and blank as a doll, Seungmin falling to pieces; that was enough to start to tear at his carefully crafted front. "I’ll watch him tonight. You two try to get some rest, ok?"

He didn’t wait for them to reply, making his way back to the stairs with trembling hands. He didn’t like the thought of sitting alone in that room with the roaring silence of Hyunjin’s thoughts. But Seungmin needed time to calm down, and Jeongin needed to process. So he’d be fine.

"Minho?" He heard from behind him. He turned. Seungmin had sat up, clutching one of the sofa cushions to his chest. "Thank you."

"It’s nothing, scrap," he said softly. "You know I’d do anything for you." He smiled, an echo of his usual sharp grin, and made his way into the darkness of Hyunjin’s room.


	7. chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope 2020 brings good things to Stray Kids, and to Stays.
> 
> Next update Sunday!

Changbin woke early, stretching out as much as he could in Woojin's small bed. The two of them had been called across the city to tend the gardens of the police commissioner. He was a regular customer of theirs, and it never hurt to get there early and keep up their good impression.

"Woojin," he said softly. "Time to get up." Woojin hummed in response, opening his eyes slowly. Changbin felt his breath catch a little. They were close, almost nose to nose, Woojin's arm slung over his hip. "Good morning," he whispered, pulling his eyes away from Woojin's lips.

"Good morning. Police commissioner?"

"That's the one."

"We'd best get there early, then," Woojin said, pulling away and rolling out of bed. Changbin lay still for a moment, feeling his warmth fade, before he followed. They had a long day ahead.

The commissioner's garden was as beautiful as always. A sweeping driveway lined by an immaculate lawn, blood red roses at the gates, rhododendrons bursting into colour. Ask Changbin and Woojin which garden they were most proud of, and they'd choose this over the Bang mansion any day. There had been too much space there for two people to manage up there, always battling against the wildness of it.

"How are the roses?" Changbin asked, noticing Woojin crouched beside them.

Woojin shook his head. "Not happy. I think the light's wrong for them. They don't like the extra shade since they built a trellis on top of the wall."

"Sometimes I think they really talk to you," Changbin said. It was almost a joke. Since the day they met, he had noticed the way Woojin was with plants, the way he always knew what they needed, how well they responded to his care. In those early days, when Woojin was closed off and quiet, Changbin had wished from time to time that he could be a flower so that Woojin would speak to him softly, whisper whatever secrets he reserved for the honeysuckle and the foxglove. Even now, there was still a part of himself Woojin hid. Changbin thought he knew what it was, thought he could sometimes feel magic if he touched the roses Woojin had bloomed.

"I understand roses better than people," Woojin joked softly. He smiled up at Changbin. "Except for you."

Changbin smiled back. "I'll be on the other side with the snakeshead. The poor things are drying out, even after all that rain. I don't know who put them there."

"This is what happens when we're busy and they hire another gardener."

Changbin snorted. "Honestly. He would have been better off just waiting. See you for lunch?"

"For lunch," Woojin confirmed. He turned back to the roses, and as Changbin walked away he could have sworn that the blooms lifted their faces to Woojin's as though seeking a kiss.

* * *

The second bout of riots came without warning. There had been no build-up, no gradual increase in gold glints in the streets as there had been the first time. The city had simply exploded, leaving Hyunjin curled up close in bed just as he had begun to wake from his stupor, clutching his head as the violence pressed against his skull. Seungmin had knocked on Jeongin's door frantically as soon as the first screams were heard, appearing slightly embarrassed when Jeongin was inside and perfectly safe.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just- I should have known you were here, really, I-" He took a step backwards.

"Do you want to come in?" Jeongin asked. Seungmin stared up at him, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Can I?" he asked hesitantly. "I don't want to disturb Hyunjin, he still not himself, and Minho..."

"Wouldn't understand?"

"Pretty much. And I don't-" Seungmin hesitated. "I don't worry about him so much. And I know I shouldn't worry about you, you made that... clear." The silence was a little strained by guilt, and Seungmin shook his head quickly. "This is a bad idea. Sorry. I'll go bother Minho." He stepped back, and Jeongin had to catch his arm to stop him disappearing up the stairs to the attic.

"Please, Seungmin. Come in." He paused. "I miss just talking to you."

Seungmin visibly relaxed. "I miss it, too," he admitted quietly. Jeongin stepped back, opening his door wider, and Seungmin stepped inside. He stood awkwardly until Jeongin patted the bed beside him as a gesture to sit down.

"Were you worried about me?" Jeongin asked. "When the riots started today." Seungmin tensed. "You can be honest," Jeongin continued.

"I- yes. Yes, I was worried, even though I could feel that you were in the house, I just..." he trailed off.

"You just what?" Jeongin prompted gently.

"It doesn't matter," Seungmin said. "You told me to stop worrying about you, right?"

Jeongin took a breath and laid his hand over Seungmin's. He felt Seungmin's fingers twitch beneath his own, and it felt like a slight overstep of the careful boundaries the three of them were always dodging. "You're fine to worry about me," he said. "I can't stop you worrying. Just don't try to stop me from doing things, or make me feel like I've done something wrong when I've acted in a way you don't approve of."

Seungmin didn't look at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll always worry. I just thought you didn't want to know."

Jeongin paused. "Is that why we haven't talked much over the last few days? You haven't wanted to let on that you're worried?"

"I didn't want to say the wrong thing," Seungmin replied in a small voice. "I was so scared when you walked out. I wanted to stop you, I wanted to-" he stopped abruptly, a faint blush creeping over his face. Jeongin wondered what he'd been about to say. "I thought if you knew I was still worrying you'd be angry with me again, and I'd lose you for good."

"Seungmin," Jeongin murmured. He didn't know what else to say. That Seungmin had thought Jeongin would abandon him so easily... hurt. But how much must it have hurt Seungmin? To think that he had lost a friend as a result of caring, of wanting him to be safe. "Seungmin," he said again, reaching over to pull him into a hug. He held him tight, closing his eyes as he felt Seungmin's hands settle on his back. He'd missed this. He'd missed Seungmin.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin said against his shoulder. It sounded like he might be crying. "I'm sorry, Jeongin, I just want you to be safe."

"I know," Jeongin whispered soothingly as Seungmin began to shake with sobs. "I know. I understand."

"I can't lose you," Seungmin said. Jeongin barely heard it. He wasn't sure if he had been intended to. So he simply held Seungmin tighter, and tried to convey without words that he never wanted to leave his side.

* * *

Hyunjin found Minho beside him when the riots finally ended, the roar of the city quieting to little more than a mild buzz in his head. He was reading a book, but his attention snapped across to Hyunjin as soon as he moved.

"Hey," he said softly. "You’re back."

"Back?"

Minho’s jaw twitched a little. He looked tired, Hyunjin noticed, behind that same old casual smile. "Something scared you. You’ve been curled up in bed, dead to the world, and then just as we thought you were coming to the riots started and you wandered off somewhere again." He tapped Hyunjin’s forehead lightly.

Hyunjin tried a smile. The police, he thought. He remembered coming home from the police station, being so afraid. Curling up and wanting to sleep.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

"Only about a day," Minho said. "What happened, Hyunjin? I’ve never seen you like that."

Hyunjin rolled over, remembering the outcome last time Minho and Seungmin had found out what the police were capable of. "I don’t want to talk about it," he whispered.

"Hyunjin," Minho said patiently. "Please. You shouldn’t keep things like that in, I’ve seen what it does to people."

"I’ll be fine. It’s really not something I want to talk about."

"You know I could just look in your head."

"I know you won’t."

Minho sighed. "I won’t," he agreed. "But only because it’s you." He paused, reaching out for Hyunjin’s hand where it rested on the pillow. "We were scared for you, Hyunjin. Seungmin didn’t think you’d come back."

"Sorry," Hyunjin whispered.

"You- This isn’t something you should be  _ sorry _ for, this is- I just think you should tell us who did that to you. So we can find them."

"That wouldn’t be a good idea," Hyunjin said.

"Why not? They need to pay, they need to-" Minho stopped his outburst. Closed his eyes briefly. "Ok," he said slowly. He sounded like he was holding back. "If you change your mind, we’ll listen. I’ll go tell Seungmin and Jeongin that you’re awake." He rose abruptly, heading for the door. Hyunjin let him go.

He pushed back the covers someone had draped over him as he waited for Seungmin and Jeongin. He felt awful. He supposed that was what happened when you just slept and didn’t eat or drink for an entire day. He’d drink something, and then maybe take a bath, he thought.

"Hyunjin!" It was Seungmin’s voice, frantic and hopeful, and he barely had time to turn towards it before he felt Seungmin’s weight hit him.

"Be gentle with him," Minho scolded, and Seungmin quickly retreated, sitting back on the bed. Hyunjin took him by the hand and gently pulled him back into his arms.

"I’m not going to break," he said softly. Jeongin was standing in the doorway beside Minho, he noticed, pale and hesitant. Hyunjin reached out a hand and he almost ran forwards, curling up beside Seungmin so that Hyunjin could embrace him. Minho leaned on the doorframe, expression strange. He still looked a little put out, as though he were doing his utmost to remain calm and not pepper Hyunjin with questions. When he caught Hyunjin’s eye, he offered him only a tight smile.

Hyunjin understood why he wanted so badly to find out what had happened. He would have been the same if it were any of the people in this room in his position. But he couldn’t tell them, he decided. Not when Seungmin and Minho could be so volatile. Jeongin wouldn’t be able to stop them if they decided to attempt an ill-thought revenge. So he held Seungmin and Jeongin close, and prepared himself to lie to them both a little.

* * *

Chan was bored. The rain was persistent, coating the grounds in a fine mist, and he hadn’t particularly felt like going out in it. Minho was unlikely to visit in this weather, too.

He sighed. It alarmed him, how quickly his life had begun to revolve around Minho coming to see him. He’d only met the man twice, after all. But Minho visiting made things  _ interesting _ . It broke the routine he’d established for himself, kept for almost three years now.

It was nice to have someone interested in his family, too. It was a point of pride for him. He had been told for years that it was. That he should place his whole identity in his blood, that it was more important than anything else. And for a good while, he’d believed it.

Things were changing now. With every news story he read of sorcerers oppressed simply because of the circumstances in which they were born, of police violence and protests, he thought that maybe his parents might have been wrong about a few things. He was almost glad they weren’t around so that he didn’t have to argue it with them. They had always been so sure that blood meant everything.

Chan sat alone in the library while the rain fell outside, carefully turning the pages of his family histories. Minho really had seemed fascinated. Had wanted to trace his own family, see what lay behind his blood. Chan envied him not knowing. Minho didn’t know what it was like to have the past weigh on him, layers of paper thin history pressing down on his back. A legacy. A fire to keep burning.

Chan thought more and more often that it would go out because of him.

He closed the book. Some thoughts weren’t for rainy days spent alone. He’d wandered down dark paths that way. He’d go to the glasshouse, he decided. Sketch the trees, unhindered by the rain. The flowers. Think of brighter things.

Try to convince himself that the taste of oranges didn’t make him think of Minho, laughing in the sunlight.

* * *

The rain had been falling for three days now. It had started the day Woojin and Changbin had tended the Commissioner's garden, nothing more than a drizzle in the early afternoon but deepening to a downpour as Woojin finished tending the rhododendrons. The roses, in reality, could have done with more care, but they were busybodies in a way the rhododendrons weren't. They poked and pried and asked him, not with words but with nodding heads and sharp thorns, whether he had spoken to Changbin yet.

"I haven't," he murmured. "I can't. Not now." The rhododendrons, at least, simply sighed and murmured stories of far off lands, even if Woojin had heard them all before.

Changbin had suggested that they stop for the day, that the rain was too heavy, but Woojin had insisted that he at least would continue. He was still shivering three days later, and starting to regret his decision.

"I really think you're ill," Changbin had muttered, reaching up to press his hand to Woojin's forehead. Woojin had watched his lips as he spoke, less inclined than usual to tear his gaze away. "Sit down. I'll make you soup."

So, Woojin was curled up on their sofa under a blanket, listening to Changbin hum in that raspy way of his. He had always liked it when Changbin let his voice drop low enough to do that. It happened most when he was concentrating, on flowers or wood he was measuring for a trellis or the like. Sometimes - the times when, guiltily, Woojin liked it most - it happened when Changbin was tired. Tired enough that he'd gone beyond the stage of being whiny and silly and cuddly, tired to the point he could barely stay upright. His voice would go rough then, scraping against Woojin's resolve like a river against a rock, wearing him down to nothing but a heart that had belonged to Changbin almost since they first met.

Woojin sighed, curling up smaller under the blanket. What would the roses say if they knew he thought like that? Not that he'd ever kept it a secret from them. The very first day Changbin had arrived at their house, small and quiet with grief, Woojin had told the roses about him.

"I think he's pretty," he had said softly to them. "Do you?" And although there was no breeze, the roses had nodded their heads, and Woojin had smiled.

Changbin, once he was settled in his new home, had spent a great deal of time trying to talk to Woojin. He tried to talk to him at breakfast, during their day's work, when Woojin was trying to sleep. Woojin never replied. He didn't know how. How could he talk to someone like Changbin, who was bright and funny and made everyone laugh? Woojin was odd. He knew people said so. Touched, they called him. Changbin wouldn't really want to talk to someone like him.

But Changbin kept trying, and Woojin kept whispering his adoration to the roses when he thought the younger boy wasn't around. Months passed that way. Changbin never relented, never left a moment of silence between them even though Woojin never spoke. It would have kept on like that, Woojin supposed, had Changbin not followed him to the rose garden. He had sat down beside Woojin, close enough that their knees almost touched.

"Woojin talks to you a lot," he had said to the roses. "So I think you must be worth talking to." There had been silence. "Why doesn't he talk to me, roses?" Changbin had asked. "I'd like to hear him say something. I think he has a lot to say." And the roses had chattered in their silent way, turning to Woojin pointedly. He wondered if Changbin noticed. Changbin had sighed. "I don't think they speak my language. Can you translate?"

Woojin had paused. "...people don't tend to listen when he talks," he had said softly. "So he doesn't say anything."

"I'd listen to him," Changbin had said. "I'd like to have a friend my age."

"He's scared you won't like him."

"I saw him put a baby bird back in its nest. I think I like him plenty."

"Really?"

"Really."

Woojin had hesitated. He remembered that moment so clearly. The breeze, the scent of the roses, the way he had looked at Changbin but Changbin hadn't looked at him, still talking to him through the roses.

"There's another nest in the woods," he had said. "I can show you where it is." And Changbin had turned to him, smiling bright enough to blind.

"I'd like that," he'd said.

The next morning, when Changbin had asked Woojin what he was doing that day and Woojin had actually replied, his father had dropped a jar of honey. It smashed on the floor, sticking the broken glass to the wood, and both of them had been thoroughly told off for licking the shards of glass they picked up.

Woojin had kept talking to the roses about Changbin. Over the years, their topics of conversation changed from adventures, trees climbed and creeks swum, to softer things. Woojin talked to them for hours about Changbin's eyes, his laugh, his lips; in autumn, when the leaves were falling and Changbin had made him bend down to pull them from his hair; the moment on a winter's night where Changbin had complained of the cold and climbed into Woojin's bunk, icy nose pressed against his neck. He had asked them, once, in a whisper after making sure Changbin wasn't around to hear, if he could pick some of their blooms for his wedding one day. They had agreed, and he had dreamed of it for weeks.

"Woojin? Are you still awake?" Woojin opened his eyes. Changbin was crouched down in front of the sofa, a bowl of soup wrapped in a tea towel to prevent his hands from burning.

"Mm," Woojin hummed, and Changbin smiled.

"You should drink this. You need to get better."

"'m fine," Woojin mumbled.

"You're not. You stayed out in the rain for too long," Changbin scolded, words high pitched and childish. Woojin couldn't help but smile. He loved that tone. He loved Changbin.

"The roses say I need to talk to you," he said quietly. Changbin stared at him in surprise, putting the soup down gently and reaching for his hand.

"Do you?" he asked. "If there's anything wrong, Woojin, you know you can tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," Woojin said. "I just need to talk to you." He was feverish, he knew, words coming in slow drips like honey over glass. He shouldn't be saying this.

"Talk about what?" Changbin looked worried now, running a hand softly over Woojin's hair. God, Woojin loved him. It made him want to cry.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "It can wait."

"Ok," Changbin murmured. "How long will it wait?"

"Maybe until the rain stops," Woojin said softly. He mustered up a smile. "Thank you for the soup."

"No problem," Changbin said, eyes searching his. "Go to bed straight after, ok? I'll stay in my room tonight, I don't want you getting too warm with me there."

Woojin thought about protesting that. He didn't often feel right when he awoke unless Changbin was there. "Ok," he said.

"But if you need me-"

"I'll call."

Changbin smiled, standing back up to tuck the blanket better around Woojin's sides. He leant in oddly for a moment, as though he were about to press a kiss to Woojin's forehead, but pulled away. Woojin had probably imagined it. He imagined a lot when it came to Changbin.

The roses would have a great deal to say about that, he thought. They always did.


	8. chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating slightly later in the day than usual as my life has become a little more chaotic; expect the trend to continue!
> 
> We'll hit the halfway point of this story later this week!

"I think four days is long enough," Minho decided out loud, sprawled out on Jisung and Felix's floor. "Long enough not to come on too strong, short enough that it seems like I've genuinely been enjoying Chan’s company."

"Did you?" Jisung asked from the sofa. He and Felix were lying there together, Felix half on top of Jisung. "Enjoy his company?"

Minho paused, tossing an apple up and down. "He isn't what I was expecting," he said eventually. "Not so much of a prat."

Felix grinned. "You like him. Is he handsome?"

"Shut up," Minho said.

"That's not a no," Jisung pointed out.

Minho thought for a moment. Full lips, gentle eyes, a broad nose... Chan's features were soft. Minho didn't usually like soft.

"Yes," he said. "He's handsome. Although I suppose that makes sense. If he really were the heir, he'd look so inbred that his chin would be halfway into his throat."

Jisung snorted. "I suppose you're right. At least he's easy on the eyes if nothing else." Minho only hummed in response.

"Are you going to see him today, then?" Felix asked.

"This afternoon," Minho confirmed.

"Got a plan?" Jisung asked.

"Be friendly," Minho said. "Do what rich young men in this day and age do. Drink expensive drinks and talk about politics like it actually affects people of our calibre."

"Sounds like a plan," Jisung said. "Although a little ironic considering the two of you are decidedly not of the same calibre."

Minho laughed. "Cut from remarkably different cloth," he agreed. "But I think I'm more than a match for him."

"Don't get complacent," Felix warned. "Rich kids study a lot. He'll be cleverer than you think."

"Clever doesn't matter," Minho said softly. "Clever just gets you further into books. Most clever people can't see two inches in front of their nose."

"You think that applies to Chan?" Jisung asked.

Minho hesitated. He remembered Chan’s thoughts, the bright blur of them, too wrapped up in magic to think of anything else. "Yes. No. I think... Chan's the opposite. He sees too much to understand the details." 

"That's a hell of a first impression," Jisung muttered. "Maybe Felix is right. You do like him."

Minho snorted, throwing the apple in the vague direction of Jisung's head. "Trust me," he said. "He's not my type." And he wasn't. Minho didn't like soft. But those eyes, he thought. He could spend a long time looking at those eyes.

He supposed he was going to.

* * *

Woojin awoke feeling somewhat better, despite the unusual solitude of his bedroom. He ached a little, and felt slightly dizzy when he sat up, but it passed quickly and he got to his feet to head to the kitchen. His door opened before he reached it, Changbin backing into the room with a tray full of food.

"Back in bed," he said over his shoulder. "Even if you're feeling better, you still need to rest."

"I'm fine, Changbin," Woojin said, but he still climbed back into bed as ordered, shuffling to the side to allow Changbin to set down the tray and sit beside it. Changbin beckoned, and Woojin leaned forward obediently so that he could check his temperature.

"You feel better," Changbin murmured, "but you should stay in bed today. I have to go put in some benches at one of the parks, but I can do that by myself."

"Can you stay for breakfast?" Woojin asked.

Changbin smiled, picking up a slice of apple from the tray. "I can stay for breakfast," he confirmed.

The two of them ate in companionable silence, Changbin's gaze flickering to the window every now and again. Sensing he had something to say, Woojin waited.

"The rain stopped," Changbin said eventually.

"Mm."

"Does that mean we talk now?"

Woojin frowned. "What do you mean?"

Changbin met his gaze, eyes serious and a little scared. "Yesterday. You told me the roses said you needed to talk to me, but it could wait until the rain stopped."

Woojin looked down at his breakfast, appetite suddenly fading. He remembered, vaguely, the context of that. He had been thinking of Changbin. The fact that he loved Changbin.

"It doesn't matter," he said softly. "What I wanted to talk about." He heard Changbin exhale, quick and frustrated, and glanced up to see him looking away. "Changbin?"

"We don't talk much, do we?" Changbin said. "Not about important things. We talk about flowers and woodwork and the songs they play on the wireless but we don't  _ talk _ ."

"I don't know what you mean," Woojin whispered. It was a lie. He knew exactly what Changbin meant. There was a distance between them despite how close they were, a carefully built gap that remained unbridged even when Woojin awoke with Changbin in his arms.

Changbin sighed again. "Woojin," he said, and the frustration in the word, verging on anger, made Woojin want to hide. It was the way people had said his name as a child when he had refused to speak, when he had talked to flowers like they were people. But never Changbin. "I know you're hiding something," he continued. "I've known for years that you've been hiding something. And I need you to  _ talk to me _ , Woojin."

"What if I can't say it?" Woojin asked quietly. He couldn't say it. He couldn't look Changbin in the eyes and say he adored him, wanted to hold him close as he always had (but not like that at all), kiss him slowly until they forgot everything but each other's names.

"I don't know, Woojin. I don't know what happens if you don't say it. I won't leave. I couldn't leave you, not when I-" he broke off, looking out the window rather than at Woojin. "I won't leave," he repeated.

"Why does it matter now?" Woojin asked. "If you've known all this time. Why does it matter now?"

"Because you almost told me last night," Changbin replied. "Because you know you need to talk to me, Woojin, because you're more honest with damn  _ flowers _ than you are with me."

"I'm sorry," Woojin whispered.

Changbin took his hand. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Just tell me. Please, Woojin, just tell me." He sounded like he was about to cry. Woojin knew how he felt. They were never like this. They were inseparable, joined at the hip, mixed up and referred to by both their names instead of one.

"I can't," he said, voice cracking and fading into nothing. He felt Changbin's hand leave his.

"I have to go to work," Changbin said after a moment. He sounded distant. "I'll be back later."

"Changbin-" Woojin began as he stood, but Changbin was gone before he could say another word. Woojin closed his eyes. He didn't know what he would have said anyway. But in the silence of his room, he thought that maybe his careful distance was beginning to fall apart. And rather than pushing them together, it might just pull Changbin away from him for good.

* * *

The sun was shining when Minho strolled up the sweeping driveway of Chan's house, turning the late afternoon a lazy shade of gold. He breathed in the fresh air as he knocked on the door and waited. It was so much clearer here, away from the smog of the city. No wonder the Bangs had built this house up here.

Chan still hadn't answered the door, and Minho frowned. It wasn't like he was going to be out. He was pretty much housebound, after all.

"Minho!" The voice came from his right, and he turned to see Chan in his shirtsleeves, sun glancing off pale forearms, waving from the side of the house. Stepping off the path and onto the immaculate lawn, Minho smiled as he waved back.

"It's good to see you again," Chan said as he approached. "I'm sorry I wasn't in."

"Not a problem," Minho said casually. "You found me, didn't you?"

Chan laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I did." A moment of silence settled over them. Minho smiled softly, waiting for Chan to break it. "I was just... I was walking around the grounds. If you wanted to join me?"

Minho nodded. "The weather's perfect for it. Makes a change from all that rain."

"It does!" Chan agreed, setting off round the side of the house towards the woodland. "The stream almost broke its banks. It hasn't done that since I was a child."

"Did you play outside a lot?" Minho asked. "I would have given away every toy I owned for a space like this." Not that he’d owned many. Chan didn’t need to know that.

He watched Chan sigh, eyes cast towards the horizon. "Not really. I was allowed out for daily walks, but I had to be supervised. They were mostly for practice, anyway."

"Practice?"

Chan glanced up, a smile dimpling his cheeks, eyes bright in the sun. "Watch this," he said. He ran a little way ahead, putting on a burst of speed Minho wouldn't have thought he had in him. Standing in the sunlight, arms spread wide and skin glowing, he really did look... Minho couldn't find a word. Easy on the eyes, Jisung had said. Minho could agree with that.

He watched as Chan closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. The air seemed to still around him, sunlight thick as honey for a moment. He exhaled, and Minho watched as wildflowers sprouted from the grass at his feet, spreading out in concentric rings of colours bright enough to burn. Chan breathed in again, and they withered, rotting down into the grass in an instant. Chan opened his eyes, smiling hopefully.

"That was- Chan, that- how?" Minho stuttered. For once, he wasn't faking surprise. He had never seen anyone do anything quite like that.

Chan laughed, bright and free. "You just have to feel it. Everything living around you. It's always there. Come on, I'll show you where I figured it out!" He beckoned, and Minho ran to him without thinking, forgetting himself for a moment. Chan's happiness was infectious, somehow.

Chan led him across the lawn and into the woods, past little moss-soaked shrines and winding paths that curled between the trees.

"I can't believe they didn't let you play here," Minho said.

"I snuck out a few times," Chan admitted. "When the groundskeeper's son and his friend convinced me. They were fun."

_ Woojin and Changbin _ , Minho thought to himself.  _ One his age, one a little younger. Forced to leave when he was seventeen.  _ "Were you close to them?" he asked.

Chan nodded, pushing a branch aside for Minho to duck under. "They were my best friends. Woojin was so shy, but Changbin always seemed to know what to say to make him smile." He hesitated. "Woojin was in love with him. Especially as they got older."   


"Did Changbin feel the same?"

"I don’t know. I hope so. He always did treat Woojin a little more carefully than he did everyone else."

"I hope it works out for them," Minho said softly.

"Yeah," Chan said. "Me, too. They deserve it. Come on. We're almost there."

After a minute more of walking in silence, the two of them broke through into a clearing, a great oak in the centre.

"Follow me," Chan said, grasping a low-hanging branch and hauling himself up. He walked along it with perfect balance, reaching up to the next branch. He sat on it, barely even panting, and looked down at Minho. "Are you coming?"

Minho paused. He hadn't anticipated this. "I'm... I'm scared of heights," he admitted after a moment. Chan's eyes widened, then softened. He dropped back down to the lower branch, holding out his hand.

"Come on," he said gently. "I'll help you."

Minho thought about it for a moment. He wasn't sure he liked this. For their last two meetings, it had been clear who had the upper hand. Minho had been in control there, Chan shy and nervous and awkward. But this was different. This was placing himself in the hands of the person he was trying to manipulate. But Chan's thoughts were clear and bright as a spring, only wanting to help, to show Minho the world as he knew it. And Minho had to make Chan think he trusted him, didn't he?

"Ok," he said slowly, reaching for the branch. "But if I fall, it's your fault." He pulled himself up, feeling Chan grip his arm to help steady him. Even little more than five feet off the ground, Minho felt dizzy, and his thoughts of keeping the upper hand over Chan faded as the other sorcerer wrapped an arm around his chest from behind to keep him close.

"You ok?" Chan asked.

"No."

"One more branch? That should be high enough."

"...Fine." They repeated the process, Chan climbing up first and helping Minho, holding him tightly once he was up.

"There," Chan said. "Can you see?"

Minho forced himself to open his eyes, peering through the canopy of the oak to the grounds beyond. He could see the sunlit glimmer of the lake, the blush of what he assumed was a rose garden, fields stretching beyond. "What am I looking for?" he asked, ignoring the way his voice shook.

"Life," Chan said. "Everywhere, just... life."

For a moment, Minho couldn’t see what he meant. But the warmth of his hand pressed against Minho’s chest, something in the tone of his voice... it started to make sense. He had to try to see things the way Chan saw them. Minho reached out, felt the river-bright rush of his thoughts. Life. That was what he was looking for.

A bird alighted close by, calling out a warning that a predator was close to the nest. Chan’s thoughts leaned towards it, and Minho  _ understood _ . Every inch of these grounds was filled with life, air and soil and water bursting with it. He couldn't feel it, connect to it, not like he thought Chan could. But he could understand it. Recognise that it intertwined around them, endless and cycling. He had been right, he realised as he let himself drift through Chan's thoughts to keep his mind off the height. Chan saw too much to understand what was right in front of him. It was a blessing for him, he supposed. Chan would likely never see exactly what Minho was.

"Do you want to go down?" Chan asked. Minho nodded. "Ok. I'll let you down first, then follow you." Carefully, he helped Minho lower himself down to the other branch, then hopping down quickly enough to make the wood bounce and Minho shriek in horror. Chan laughed at that, laying a hand on his shoulder in silent apology, and once he was back on the ground Minho found himself laughing too.

The sun was setting as the two of them headed back towards the house. Minho pulled an oak leaf from Chan's hair and felt his thoughts flutter gently, like a breeze through the trees. Interesting.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Chan asked. "I don't have much in, but I could at least show you around the house a little more."

Minho smiled. This, he was more comfortable with. He had been forming a rough map of the house in his head, but it could do with some consolidation. "I'd like that," he said, and let Chan lead him up the vast stone steps as the sun set behind them.

* * *

"I really don't have much in," Chan admitted. "I'm not really used to cooking." The two of them were in the kitchen, searching the cupboards for their dinner.

"Let me look," Minho suggested. He peered over Chan's shoulder into the cupboard. "Plenty of veg. I'll teach you how to make soup."

The atmosphere of the room grew gentler as he showed Chan how to chop the various vegetables, sometimes taking his hands carefully to instruct him better. There were blips in the rush of Chan's thoughts when he did that, he noticed, like shooting stars. Minho tried to get a clearer read on them, rested his hand lightly at the small of Chan's back and focused in, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had emerged. Almost like Chan was pushing it down.

"There!" Minho said brightly as he turned down the heat to a simmer. "We can leave it now."

"That's it?" Chan asked.

Minho nodded. "That's it. Did your parents never teach you how to cook?"

Chan shrugged slightly, glancing down away from Minho. "They didn't think they needed to teach me things like that. It wasn't important."

"But they didn't leave anyone to do this for you, either," Minho pointed out.

Chan's thoughts flickered. "I know, I just- can we not talk about them? Please?"

"Ok," Minho agreed softly. "Tell me about the grounds, then. You maintain them all by yourself?"

Chan nodded. "They just take encouragement, mostly. It's not like I'm trying to make the hedges grow in the shape of gryphons or anything."

"But you could?"

Chan laughed. "I could," he conceded, and the way he looked at Minho out of the corner of his eye, shy as a rabbit, pulled ever so faintly at the tendons in Minho's chest.

The soup was good; better than Minho expected.  "I'm not the world's best cook," he told Chan, "but soup is soup."

"Trust me, it's the best meal I've had in a while," Chan said. "Like I said, I don't really cook."

Minho didn't ask why a second time.

After dinner, Chan took him on a tour of the south staircase and the rooms that surrounded it, peeking through ornate doors and running their fingers over banisters of polished wood.

One room was locked tight, chains wrapped around the handles. "My parents' room," Chan explained. "It stays locked until twenty years after their death. Lets the spirits settle." He sounded reluctant, and Minho wondered again why he seemed to dislike speaking of his parents. Perhaps he knew, on some subconscious level, that something wasn't right there. Or perhaps some wounds were simply too fresh.

"Where's your room?" Minho asked.  _ Because you won't get any more information from him on this,  _ he told himself.  _ Not because you want to distract him. Not because you think someone so kind shouldn’t look so sad. _

"On the north staircase," Chan said. "It's not... There's nothing very interesting in there anyway."

"I'll take your word for it," Minho said with a sly wink, and Chan laughed.

Time passed swiftly, and the sky had darkened with dusk and thunderclouds by the time Minho came to leave. Chan frowned at the rain that had begun to colour the drive.

"Did you bring a jacket?" he asked.

"I didn't. The sunshine was glorious when I arrived."

Chan's expression softened to concern. "Wait here," he said, darting back towards the parlour. He emerged a moment later holding a dark jacket out towards Minho. When Minho made no move to take it, staring in surprise, Chan reached behind him to tuck it around his shoulders with a smile.

"There," he said. "It'll keep you dry even if it's not the best fit." He laughed, and Minho glanced from side to side to see the jacket hanging of him, far too wide in the shoulders. Minho hadn't realised Chan was so much broader than he was. Although, he decided, looking at him now and thinking back to the way Chan had held him in the oak tree, it was obvious that he'd simply been remarkably unobservant on that front.

"Will it do?" Chan asked anxiously. "Just to get you home."

Minho smiled at him as he slipped his arms into the sleeves. The faintest scent of cologne wafted from the collar. "It'll do just fine. Thank you, Chan. I'll bring it back as soon as I can. Work might get in the way, but I’ll do my best."

Chan ducked his head, looking a little shy. "I'll see you, then," he said quietly.

Minho grinned. "Goodbye, Chan," he said, and stepped out of the light into the rain-soaked dusk.

* * *

Woojin and Changbin didn't speak when Changbin returned; Changbin barely even looked at him before he headed for the bath, discarding his coat over the back of a chair. Woojin watched as it slid slowly to the floor, padding across the room to pick it up. He intended to hang it back over the chair, but he simply ended up standing still, holding it tightly, listening to the water rush into the bathtub in the other room. He hoped this silence didn't last. He wasn't sure he could stand it.

But Changbin didn't talk to him after his bath either. He passed by the spot where Woojin was curled in the living room, taking a slab of cheese and a few tomatoes from the cupboards for a meal. Woojin did his best not to cry, retreating to his room and burying his face in his pillow to muffle the sound. He thought he heard footsteps outside his door and held his breath until they moved away again. He didn't want Changbin to see him crying over this. He didn't want Changbin to hurt any more than he already was.

It wasn't until he looked up that he noticed the geranium on his windowsill had withered and died, leaves dropping into the soil one by one.

The evening faded into night, patterns of sunlight sliding over Woojin's floor until they died away, replaced by the silver of moonlight. He couldn't sleep. He had wondered if Changbin would come to his room, curl up in his bed like their argument only held weight in the daylight hours, a flower that couldn't bloom in moonlight. But Woojin was alone, and he couldn't sleep.

He regretted it almost as soon as he knocked on Changbin's door. This was a bad idea. Changbin needed space, time away from Woojin, not-

"Come in," he heard just as he was about to walk away. Slowly, Woojin opened the door. Changbin was sitting up in bed as though he hadn't even been trying to sleep. "Are you ok?"

Woojin walked slowly towards him, and Changbin pulled back the covers as he approached. Woojin curled beside him, trying to make himself as small as possible as Changbin tucked the covers back around them both.

"I'm sorry," Woojin whispered.

"No," Changbin replied softly. "I am. I shouldn't have pushed you. I know how hard it is for you to say things sometimes." He reached up, stroked Woojin's cheek gently. Woojin loved how gentle he could be, despite all his strength. "But I'll always listen to you, Woojin."

"I know. And I'll tell you one day, I promise."

"Only when you're ready."

"Please don't hate me if that takes a while."

Changbin pulled back, looking Woojin in the eyes in the faint shaft of moonlight that bled through his curtains. "I could never hate you, Woojin. Never. I meant it when I said I wouldn't leave you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Woojin tried to smile and failed. Changbin pulled him close again. They always knew how to make each other feel safe, he thought. It was what he loved about the way they were. "I don't know what I'd do without you either," he admitted.

"Then let's never find out," Changbin said.

"Never," Woojin agreed, and he lay awake until Changbin's breathing slowed and evened out, and then followed him into sleep.


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mostly soft chapter to lead up to the halfway point of this story; enjoy the softness while it lasts.
> 
> Next update Saturday!

"This isn't working. It's too slow." Minho pushed himself out of the armchair and began pacing, fingers threading back through his perfectly styled hair.

It was late in the afternoon, and Jisung and Felix had been unceremoniously dragged to the house Minho was staying in, hurriedly introduced to Hyunjin and Seungmin, and told that they were there for a group discussion. Aside from Minho, recounting his progress with Chan, no one had said anything much so far.

Finally, Seungmin piped up. "What do you expect us to do about that?" he asked. "If it's moving slowly, it's moving slowly Minho."

"Oh, I don't want your help with Chan himself," Minho clarified. "I want you to find something else. I know Jisung has speculations on the involvement of the maid and her child, but nothing is confirmed. We need some other way to identify that Chan was not born to this line. So." He clapped his hands. "Ideas?"

Silence fell across the room. "Good to know I'm not just losing my touch," Minho said with a sigh.

Hyunjin fidgeted in his seat. "I might know a way. It's new, but the police are using it."

Felix lifted his head. "The police? How do you know what they're up to?"

Hyunjin didn't speak for a moment. "They may have asked for my help with it," he admitted slowly. Seungmin’s expression darkened a little. "I said no. It was part of a scheme to identify sorcerers killed or arrested in the riots. Every sorcerer has...a signature, I suppose. Something about their magic that identifies it as theirs. They've been collecting sorcerers with a good sense for auras so they can create a more objective way of recording sorcerers involved in things like what happened today."

Jisung started quickly scribbling down notes, and Minho couldn't help but smile. After the next story, no doubt.

"How does that help us?" Felix asked.

Hyunjin sighed. "Magical signatures run in families. If we could get Chan's, and something of his parents'..."

"We could find out if they match," Seungmin finished.

Minho's smile broadened into something catlike. "Now this I like. Jisung. Felix. Can you use that info?"

Jisung nodded. "If it's good enough for the police, it's good enough for us."

"Fantastic!" Minho exclaimed. "Explain to me how I get a signature from Chan first. His parents, being sadly deceased, will be a different obstacle."

"I could get a read off Chan directly," Hyunjin said, "but I don't think that's feasible. So, anything he's used magic on will work. Bring something back for me."

"Will do," Minho promised. "Now. Mr and Mrs Bang."

"If they've been trying to isolate signatures from people killed in the riots" Jeongin began, hesitating slightly, "surely Hyunjin could get something from Chan's parents' bones?"

Minho spun around, gesturing to Jeongin. "There he goes again," he announced. "The only one in the room whose head works faster than mine." He turned to Hyunjin. "Do you think that would work?"

Hyunjin nodded slowly. "If someone can get me a femur."

"Specifically?" 

"I was being facetious," Hyunjin clarified dryly. "I’m sure any bone would do."

"There must be a family crypt," Felix said thoughtfully. "You haven't come across it on any of your jaunts over the grounds?"

Minho rolled his eyes. "We've taken a single jaunt," he corrected, "and no. I don't think Chan likes to think about his parents."

Jisung's brows furrowed. "They weren't-"

"Abusive? I don't think so," Minho said. "Aside from the way all rich parents are. But they're dead, and apparently most people don't enjoy thinking of their dead relatives."

Hyunjin and Seungmin snorted simultaneously, and Minho shot them both a grin.

"The groundskeepers," Felix suggested. "The ones Jisung and I spoke to. Woojin and Changbin. They must know where the crypt is."

Minho nodded, leaning against the wall in a way that emphasised the length of his legs. It was something he'd practised for years. "Do they seem like the type to be willing to dig up their former employer? Either of them."

Jisung shook his head. "Too gentle. Both of them just seemed...sweet."

"They-" Jeongin started. Five heads turned to him, and he stopped. "I met them," he said. "On the day of the riots. I left the city for a few hours." Hyunjin squeezed Seungmin's hand. "They wouldn't do it for money. But I think... I think they care about Chan."

Minho looked at him. "You think we can get them to help us if we convince them it's for Chan's sake?"

Jeongin bit his lip, and nodded.

Minho grinned. "I think we can manage that. We'll talk to them tomorrow. Jeongin, come with me."

"Ok," Jeongin said quietly. "I'm going to bed." He disappeared up the stairs without another word. Hyunjin pressed a kiss to Seungmin's cheekbone and followed him.

"So," Minho continued. "Tomorrow, we talk to the groundskeepers. No point getting any signature from Chan if we're not one hundred percent sure we can get one from his parents. If all goes well, I'll be back at Chan's in maybe a week. It's a little later than I would have liked, but I told him I was going to be busy with work. I have to keep up some illusion of having a life outside of this."

"The solution would be to  _ develop _ a life outside of this," Felix teased, and Seungmin threw back his head and laughed.

"Trust me, Felix," Seungmin said, lifting his glass to gesture to Minho. "The day Lee Minho learns to do something other than interfere in people's lives will be the day someone buries him face down."

Minho winked. "You wouldn't want me any other way."

Seungmin's face softened a little. "Most of the time, you're right." He drained his glass, and placed it decisively on the table. "I'm going to bed. It was good to meet you, Jisung. Felix."

"You too," Jisung said with a nod, and Felix smiled brightly.

"You two should be off," Minho said teasingly. "I think Jisung's trying to even out the score with how much alcohol I've stolen from him, and I don't think I want to see him drunk with you around, Felix."

Felix laughed as Jisung leaned in to press a kiss to his neck. "We'll see you soon, Minho. Be gentle with the groundskeepers tomorrow. Especially the tall one."

"I'll try," Minho said airily. "Now shuffle home before I have to see more of Jisung doing... Whatever that is."

Jisung turned from where he was nuzzling into Felix's neck, laughing. "Goodnight, Minho," he said, taking Felix's hand and heading to the door. "Let us know how tomorrow goes."

"I will," Minho promised, and the room fell silent as the door closed. He sighed. He didn't think sleep would come easily tonight. He was too wired on caffeine and adrenaline, the city riots buzzing in his blood. On top of that, he'd somehow managed to upset Jeongin. Hopefully Hyunjin would deal with that.

Minho sighed again. A week to go until he saw Chan again. The thought made something in him spark. The thrill of the chase, he told himself. Another move in the game of chess.

He poured himself another drink.

* * *

"Jeongin?" Hyunjin rapped his knuckles lightly on Jeongin's bedroom door. It swung open, the narrow beam of light illuminating Jeongin sitting on his bed in the dark. "Are you ok?"

Jeongin looked at him for a moment, eyes uncertain, and Hyunjin was reminded of the age gap between them. A year and a half was nothing sometimes, but in times like these it made all the difference.

"I don't like what I just did," Jeongin said quietly, and Hyunjin slipped into his room, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the bed, finding Jeongin's hand in the dark.

"What do you mean?"

"I told Minho to manipulate Woojin and Changbin. They were kind to me and I- I just told him how to make them do what he wanted. And he didn't even question it." His fingers twitched. "I know you say he's good, and he's your best friend, but... what sort of person doesn't even question whether he should use people's kindness against them? And what does it make me that I told him how?"

Hyunjin sighed. He would have to word this carefully. "Minho...sees things differently. The way he grew up, the way he was taught... He looks at a human being and either sees a motive for action or a means to an end. He never developed an in between, never learned how to value people as something other than a reason or way to change the world. He saved Seungmin and I because he saw us as another reason to change a system that he already knew needed changing. It doesn't mean he doesn't love us, and you, in his way. He just...struggles to see people as people, sometimes."

"And you?" Jeongin asked.

"What about me?"

"He basically raised you. How do you see people?"

Hyunjin took a breath. "Colours," he said. "I see colours. They show whether a person is kind or not, whether they need help, how they feel. You don't need to worry about Minho changing you, Jeongin. Even now, in the dark, I can see you, and you shine just as bright as you always have." He heard Jeongin's breath hitch, saw the flush of cherry blossom hope spread through the silver that surrounded him, but Jeongin gave no reply.

"Jeongin?" Hyunjin asked after a moment, surprised by how much his voice shook. "Can I kiss you?"

A pause. A flurry of colours that Hyunjin tried to ignore, waiting for a verbal response.

"Yes," Jeongin whispered after a moment. "Yes, you can kiss me."

For Jeongin, Hyunjin thought, the sudden certainty with which Hyunjin laid a hand upon his cheek in the pitch black room must have been strange. But to him, Jeongin shone, bright as a beacon. Hyunjin could find him in a crowd of thousands.

His features, however, were unclear, and Hyunjin missed the mark a little at first, pressing his lips to only the corner Jeongin's. Jeongin laughed softly, and Hyunjin let himself join in for a moment before he tried again, his lips meeting Jeongin's in earnest this time. Hyunjin kissed him softly, feeling his heart swell with joy, pushing against his ribs. Things could only get better from now on.

"Do you-" he began as he broke the kiss. He didn’t know how to phrase this. "Seungmin- He- I think you feel the same way about him too, but I thought I’d-"

"Yes," Jeongin said shyly. "Seungmin, too.”

Hyunjin let out a relieved laugh. "Good. It sort of might have broken our hearts if you only felt this way about one of us."

"It scared me at first,” Jeongin admitted softly. “Loving both of you. I didn't think- I didn't know if I could. If there was something wrong with me."

"Oh, Jeongin," Hyunjin murmured. The tremor in his voice was enough to break Hyunjin's heart. "There's nothing wrong with you. Seungmin and I are the same. We love each other, and you. That could never be wrong."

"You can tell him, if you want," Jeongin said. "I think- I think I'm ready."

"If you change your mind about that, we understand," Hyunjin told him, trying to stay rational as his heart soared. "These are uncertain times. Seungmin and I- we'll wait for you if you need us to."

"I think maybe we all waited a bit too long for this anyway," Jeongin suggested, and Hyunjin laughed.

"I think you're right. Seungmin and I only talked about it for the first time after the riots, but we've both been pining after you for a while now."

"You can stop," Jeongin said quietly. "I'm right here."

"You are, aren't you?" Hyunjin murmured, leaning in, and as he kissed Jeongin he thought that out of all the people in this violent, ugly world, he had found two of the best.

* * *

Seungmin was already in bed when Hyunjin returned, nose in a book. Hyunjin threw himself backwards onto the bed, head landing on Seungmin's knees, and he smiled as Seungmin lowered the book.

"You look happy," he said, hand settling on Hyunjin's hair.

"I am." Hyunjin turned his head so that he was staring up at the ceiling. "I kissed Jeongin," he whispered. Seungmin's hand stilled.

"I-" he began, and even in that one syllable Hyunjin could hear his fear, his envy. Seungmin had always doubted that Jeongin wanted him as well as Hyunjin. "I'm happy for you."

Hyunjin sat up, taking Seungmin's face in his hands. He could see tears in his eyes, shining bright even as he tried to blink them away. "Seungmin," he said softly. "He wants both of us. I asked him, Seungmin, he loves you."

Seungmin's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really." Hyunjin leaned in and kissed him gently. "I love you, Seungmin, and so does he. He told me I could tell you. I thought you'd want to know right away."

"Thank you," Seungmin said, crying in earnest now. "He loves us," he whispered as Hyunjin kissed the tears from his cheeks. "After- he loves  _ me _ ."

Hyunjin drew back, frowning. "After? After what?"

"After the riots," Seungmin said. "After the things I said to him. I thought I'd blown any chance I had."

"Oh, scrap," Hyunjin said softly. "You just didn't want him to get hurt. He knows that. We talked about it. And I'm sure he loves that you want him to be safe. You just lash out a little when you're worried. It's something that can be worked through, not the final decider in whether he wants to be with you."

Seungmin hesitated. "If it doesn't work out, though. Between Jeongin and I. Would you stay with me?" Hyunjin's heart dropped to his stomach. He'd had no idea Seungmin was so insecure about this.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I'll stay with you, Seungmin, I will  _ always  _ stay with you."

"Ok," Seungmin whispered, and Hyunjin kissed him as though he would fall apart beneath his hands.

"Talk to Jeongin," he said. "He loves you, Seungmin, and I know you love him too. Don't make assumptions about how this will go."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Seungmin confirmed. "Before he goes with Minho."

"Good idea. Let's get some sleep."

Hyunjin reached to turn out the light, feeling Seungmin curl close against him as the glow faded. Hyunjin held him, breathing in his familiar scent. How could Seungmin believe he was unloved because of one mistake? Hyunjin had loved him forever, and would always love him. And he saw the way Jeongin looked at him; as though his world rested on Seungmin's shoulders. As though he'd trust Seungmin to catch him, no matter what the height he fell from. Jeongin loved Seungmin.

Hopefully, Hyunjin thought as Seungmin's arm wound around his waist, their conversation tomorrow would be enough to begin to convince him.

* * *

Minho, when he finally climbed into bed, couldn't sleep. He kept staring at the shadow of Chan's jacket draped over his chair, remembering Chan's expression at the sight of the rain, the way he had told Minho to wait. His laugh when the jacket had hung loose around Minho's shoulders had been so sweet to his ears. That wide, crooked smile. Chan's hands, gentle on his shoulders. The scent of rain mixing with the faintest hint of cologne on the collar of the jacket on his way home.

Minho shook himself, sitting upright in bed. He didn't know where this was coming from. Chan was an experiment, a means to an end. He wasn't something to be thought of this way, in softness and in hope. Although, Minho thought as he stared at the jacket, perhaps softness was the wrong word. Perhaps that wasn't what Minho's mind was trying to convey. Chan was handsome, he wouldn't deny that. And Minho had seen him that day in the glasshouse, spent a little too long looking at the shift of the muscles on his arms. He had stared at Chan's mouth, watched him bite his lower lip when he concentrated. Maybe Minho wanted him. Maybe that was all this was. It couldn't do any harm, after all, if Minho had developed an interest purely because of that.

The more he thought about it, the more that seemed to make sense. Everything about Chan, from the way he spoke and carried himself to the strength hidden beneath his gentle exterior, was enough to make Minho curious, to make him want to touch, to see how Chan would react to Minho pushing the boundaries of their strange relationship. Would he even know how to react to such advances, given the sheltered nature of his upbringing? Would he be horrified or curious?

Minho rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, exhaling slowly. There was no point in thinking about it. To make that kind of move, to push Chan into a space where he wouldn't be comfortable, would be dangerous; not only because Minho needed Chan to trust him, but because Chan was likely the most powerful sorcerer he'd ever met. If Minho scared him, Chan would most likely reveal that power in a way Minho wouldn't enjoy.

He rolled over, the jacket out of his line of sight behind him. He probably wouldn't see Chan too many more times. It didn't do to dwell on him.

But when he finally drifted off to sleep, he found his last coherent thought was still of the gentleness of Chan's eyes in the evening rain.

* * *

It was around four in the morning when Seungmin awoke. He had barely slept. Even with Hyunjin's whispered reassurances, soft kisses brushed behind his ear, his heart had been beating too fast, thoughts running too wild and too dark for him to let sleep take him. What if Hyunjin was wrong? What if he had misinterpreted Jeongin's words? He could understand why Jeongin would love Hyunjin. Hyunjin and his magic were elegant, smooth and beautiful and everything loveable. But Seungmin? Seungmin was rough around the edges, magic stilted and chipped away to the point where it might as well not be there at all. He was easily frustrated, overprotective. He  _ adored _ Jeongin. But it made no sense that Jeongin would want him back.

He rolled away from Hyunjin, ignoring the faint murmur he gave. The sun wasn't even risen yet, but Seungmin thought he could hear footsteps from Jeongin's room. It was time to clear this up.

He knocked gently on Jeongin's door, and it opened instantly. Seungmin stood, tongue tied, as Jeongin looked at him, eyes wide. They both spoke at the same time.

"I just want to-"

"Seungmin, I was meaning to-"

They stopped. Jeongin smiled. "You go first," he said.

Seungmin looked down at his bare feet. This was hard to say, but it had to be said. "I just want to say it doesn't matter what you and Hyunjin said last night. If you love him and... not me, that's fine. I understand. I more than understand. But just to clear the air... I love you, Jeongin. But it's ok if the feeling isn't mutual."

He looked up slowly, mustering all the courage he had to meet Jeongin's eyes. He looked... upset. Eyes wide and confused and gentle.

"I shouldn't have let you go first," he said. Before Seungmin could reply, Jeongin had stepped awkwardly closer and leaned down towards him, hovering a breath away before tentatively pressing his lips to Seungmin's. Seungmin's mind stopped.

"I love you," Jeongin said quietly. "Seungmin, I love you." He pulled back a little, perhaps intending to read Seungmin's reaction, but Seungmin followed him, pulling him back down for a deeper kiss. Jeongin loved him. He could feel it now, in the way Jeongin's hands fluttered nervously at his jaw, the way he broke the kiss every now and then to smile or meet his eyes. He  _ loved _ him.

Seungmin pulled back. "This might not work," he said quickly. "I'm not good at this. It might not-"

"Let's at least try," Jeongin interrupted gently. "I think we all want to try."

"I do," Seungmin agreed. "But I just-"

"No," Jeongin warned, pressing his forehead to Seungmin's. "We try. If it doesn't work out, we discuss it then. Ok?"

"Ok," Seungmin whispered, and he leaned up to kiss Jeongin one more time.

* * *

Jisung woke with the sun. It was rare for him to be awake so early, prone to sleeping in, and he and Felix had stayed up late the night before. They had started off discussing Minho's grave robbing plans, the morbid turn the investigation had taken, and ended up sprawled on their bed, reminiscing past investigations and moments they could have become something more.

"I wanted to kiss you during the Lee investigation two years ago," Jisung had said. "On the train."

Felix had laughed. "On the  _ train _ ?"

"I know, I know. But you looked so serious reading your notes, and I wanted to make you smile."

"Make me smile, then," Felix had said, and Jisung had kissed him breathless.

And now the sunlight was running over Felix's skin like gold, delicate scatterings of freckles lit up. Gently, Jisung kissed one, and another, and another until Felix frowned and wrinkled his nose.

"'Sung," he mumbled. "Too early."

"Sorry," Jisung said quietly, laughing a little. "I just wanted to kiss you."

"Kiss me later," Felix said, slurring a little. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Ok," Jisung agreed, pulling Felix close and letting him bury his face in Jisung's chest.

Felix fell asleep quickly, the rhythm of his breath against Jisung's skin soothing enough to help him follow.

When he next awoke, Felix was sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning up his shirt.

"No," Jisung complained, tugging Felix's shirt off one of his shoulders. "No getting dressed today. Minho and Jeongin are off talking to Woojin and Changbin, which means Minho won't bother us until this evening." He pressed a soft kiss to a cluster of freckles on Felix's shoulder. "So, we can stay in bed."

Felix hummed, smiling in the sunlight. "What about breakfast?" Jisung pretended to take a bite out of his shoulder and Felix burst out laughing, letting himself fall back so that his head rested on Jisung's chest. "Ok," he agreed. "We stay in bed. No paperwork, no old newspapers... no whisky."

Jisung frowned, tapping Felix's nose gently. "We could bring the whisky here," he complained.

"And get out of bed?"

"Hm." Jisung pushed Felix off him, cutting off his complaints by rolling over to kiss him slowly. "I think I like staying in bed more than whisky," he murmured, and Felix smiled brighter than the sun flooding through their window.


	10. chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The halfway point. Here, the angst begins in earnest.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's read so far!

Breakfast that morning was a lighthearted affair. Jeongin had already left, taking Minho out to talk to the groundskeepers, but Seungmin had  _ kissed him goodbye _ . He’d been able to do that. It had been hesitant, Seungmin unsure if it was a good idea and Jeongin standing patiently in case Seungmin changed his mind, but he had kissed Jeongin goodbye. He smiled at the memory.

"You look happy," Hyunjin said softly. He was smiling, the sunlight through the window illuminating him like a halo.

"And you look beautiful," Seungmin replied.

"Things went well with Jeongin?" Hyunjin asked. Seungmin couldn’t hold back a grin.

"They did," he confirmed. "He really loves us, doesn’t he?"

"I think he does," Hyunjin said. "His aura told me a while ago, but I wasn’t sure. They can be fickle, sometimes. Auras."

"I meant to ask you about that, actually," Seungmin said. This was something that had been plaguing him ever since the meeting, the decision to ask Woojin and Changbin for their help. "You said the police asked for your help. That day… when you came home crying. When you wouldn’t talk to us. I know you didn’t want to tell us, but… It was the police who scared you, wasn’t it?" Hyunjin was silent for a moment. Seungmin looked across the table to see him pulling apart a slice of toast, crumbling into nothing on his plate. "Hyunjin," he said softly. "Please talk to me."

"I was so scared," Hyunjin said after a long moment. "I thought they were going to kill me, Seungmin. They wouldn’t stop  _ chasing _ me, I thought- I didn’t want to lead them back to you and Jeongin. So I let them catch me."

Seungmin said nothing. The thought of Hyunjin so scared, so utterly terrified, and still letting himself be caught to protect those he loved; it rendered him speechless. He wanted to run into the police station, scream his lungs out, tear the place apart. It was the same way he’d felt when he and Minho had found Hyunjin, aged thirteen, sprawled out on the cobbles in his own blood, a butterfly lying crushed in his palm. Those wounds had taken weeks to heal.

"I talked to the commissioner," Hyunjin continued as Seungmin gripped the table, trying to stay calm. "He asked if I’d help him with the program to identify sorcerers. I said I couldn’t do it."

"You should have said yes."

"What?"

"If you thought he was going to have you  _ killed _ . You should have said yes. Done whatever he wanted."

"You think I should have betrayed Jeongin and Minho?"

"I think you should have tried to stay alive, Hyunjin." Seungmin took a deep breath, willing himself to lower the volume of his voice. "I can’t live without you." It was the sort of thing Hyunjin would normally say. Seungmin could rarely find it in him to be so ardent with his confessions of love.

"You don’t have to," Hyunjin whispered. "He let me go. I couldn’t believe it. I ran all the way home."

"No one followed you?"

"Not a soul." Hyunjin was shaking, Seungmin noticed. He pushed back his chair, circled the table to stand beside him and hold him close. Hyunjin pressed his face into Seungmin’s chest as he began to cry, wrapping his arms around Seungmin’s waist.

"You’re safe now," Seungmin said softly, trying to focus on the warmth of Hyunjin in his arms rather than thoughts of revenge. They had scared Hyunjin so much he’d gotten lost inside his own mind. They had made him think he wouldn’t return home. He took another deep breath. "You’re safe now."

* * *

As the sun climbed in the sky, casting cloud-shadows over the city, Jeongin led the way to Woojin and Changbin's cottage. The buildings faded as they walked, walls making way for hedgerows, cobbles running out and turning to pebbles on dirt roads. Vaguely, Minho wondered if he should ask Jeongin if he was alright; he was quiet now, and he had seemed upset the night before. Hyunjin had obviously thought so too, judging by the speed with which he had followed him. But, despite his silence, Jeongin looked happy this morning. Minho thought it might have something to do with Seungmin smiling more brightly than he had in a long time. With Hyunjin singing to himself as he cooked. Delicately, he skimmed through Jeongin's thoughts. He backed off quickly. He had a particular disinterest in the intricacies of how Seungmin kissed.

"This is the cottage," Jeongin said, interrupting Minho's quiet investigations. He took in the sight; roses dancing in the sunlight, neat borders, a picket fence. It was the definition of idyllic, and Minho found it raised bile in his throat a little. He waved Jeongin forwards.

"You're the one who knows them," he pointed out. "You do introductions and I'll do explanations."

Jeongin nodded, knocking softly on the door. Woojin was the one to open it, expression wavering between a smile and a nervous frown as he caught sight of Minho.

"Hi, Woojin," Jeongin said. "This is Minho. He's come to ask you some follow up questions from Jisung and Felix."

"Jisung and Felix? The people who came to ask about the maid? I didn’t know you were involved with them, Jeongin." Changbin's voice came from behind Woojin, and the taller man shifted to the side so that Changbin could stand beside him in the doorway. "What’s going on?"

"The situation regarding our investigations has changed," Minho said lightly. "In all honesty, we owe you an explanation. It may take some time."

Changbin hesitated, pinning Minho with a level stare. Minho smiled. "Come in," Changbin said eventually, and Minho and Jeongin followed him beneath the roses and into the cottage.

"So," Changbin said, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside Woojin. "This is still about the maid who committed suicide?"

"No," Minho admitted. "That was... an excuse for my associates to ask you questions. In all honesty, we’re trying to solve a different puzzle. The puzzle being proving that Bang Chan is not, in fact, the true heir to the Bangs."

Silence fell.

"Why?" Woojin asked quietly. Minho turned to him, having slightly forgotten that he was there, and smiled. Woojin flinched.

"A few reasons,” Minho replied. “Firstly, to prove that powerful magic doesn't run in bloodlines and change the laws surrounding sorcerers not born into the upper class." He softened his expression. This was where the real trick came into play. "Secondly," he said, "to help Chan. I've visited him a few times, and he... the pressure of being the heir isn't good for him, I don't think."

Changbin and Woojin exchanged a knowing look. They'd had this conversation before, Minho thought. He'd hit the right angle.

"Does he know any of this?" Changbin asked. "Does he know what you're doing?"

Minho shook his head, crafting an expression of a sort of regretful suffering. God, he loved doing this. "He doesn't. I wish we could tell him, but until we're sure..."

"It'll be easier to explain afterwards," Jeongin followed softly.

"Why do you need our help?" Changbin asked. His thoughts were distrustful, confused by the apparent honesty of Minho's words. That was good. Confused was something Minho could work with.

"How much do you know about magical signatures?" he asked.

"Magical what?"

Minho nodded slowly. He’d expected that response. The police really were doing their best to keep this under wraps. “The unique trace of each sorcerer; the colour their magic leaves, I suppose. Despite being different for everyone, distinct similarities run in families. That’s what we need." He sighed. "Honestly, I don't like that we have to do this. It's... distasteful. But we need something of Mr and Mrs Bang to read magical signatures from. As the groundskeepers... we believe you could tell us where the crypts are."

"The crypts?" Woojin asked softly. "You want their bones?" His thoughts were running fast and panicked, Minho only getting glances of gardens and stone pillars. If only he'd slow down, Minho could find the crypts from his head and it wouldn't even matter if the two of them decided to help.

"There's no other way?" Changbin asked. Woojin glanced at him in surprise. "This is the only way you can help Chan?"

"All our other evidence is circumstantial," Jeongin said quietly. "We’re working off rumours, and we need some way to prove that he isn't related to the Bangs."

"Can't you get a trace from their clothes or something?"

"I'm afraid not," Minho said. "It has to be either from something the person has performed magic on, or from the person themselves." He paused, letting his shoulders drop. "I wish there were another way. I really do."

"What happens to Chan?" Woojin asked. "After all this."

"That's up to him," Jeongin said. "We'll do our best to help him, but we can't control how he'll react. But we think this is what needs to be done if he's ever going to escape that house." Minho held back a smile. Hyunjin and Seungmin really had picked up a good liar.

Changbin and Woojin hesitated, eyes meeting in some kind of silent communication. There was something there between them, Minho thought, something old and comfortable, a seed buried in soil and waiting to bloom.

"Can we think about it?" Changbin said eventually. "You're asking a lot of us. Chan trusted us. We were his friends. To sneak in and steal bones..."

"Feels like betraying that trust," Minho finished. "I know. I've spent some time with him now, and he's a good man. I don't like doing this. But I don't like the thought of him stuck there forever." He handed Changbin a piece of paper with Hyunjin and Seungmin's address written on it. "If you want to contact us, we'll be here." He got up to leave, Jeongin following suit.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Changbin said as he headed for the door. "About meeting Chan."

Minho met his eyes, steady and level. "He wants to see the sea," he said quietly, and something in him shook at the sincerity of his own voice. He tipped his hat and opened the front door, heading out into the sunlight.

"Jeongin," Woojin said softly as the younger man made to follow. "The people you cared for. Are things better with them?"

Jeongin smiled, looking down at his shoes as he blushed. "I think things are going to be perfect," he said, and followed Minho out the door.

* * *

Jeongin could hear the noise rising as they approached the city limits. Another lot of riots, he supposed. More blood and dust and fear, more people willing to die for the sake of change.

"Do you think we should wait?" he asked Minho anxiously. "To head back, I mean. If there are more riots."

Minho smiled, shooting him a glance that shone with mischief and something darker that Jeongin couldn’t name. "No," he said. "I think we should go join in." He grabbed Jeongin by the arm before he could protest, pulling him through the city gates and into the throng at a run. He seemed to dart through the streams of people as easily as a fish, slipping between bodies and boots and threatening to leave Jeongin behind. But he clung tight to Jeongin’s arm, tugging him along through the flashes of police blue and triskele gold, the colours fading in the flying dust.

"This way," he called back, and Jeongin couldn’t see where he was gesturing, was lost in the smell of blood and sweat and rage, the sound of people fighting for their lives and the lives of those who would come after them; but he followed anyway, let Minho pull him up onto a high doorstep so they stood above the crowd. A hand on Jeongin’s waist to steady him, Minho stared out at the crowd, swaying and roaring like waves beneath the moon.

"Minho," Jeongin shouted. "We’re not safe up here!"  Minho said nothing, just stared out into the crowd like he was watching a dance. Jeongin followed his gaze, wondering what Minho could see in all this, what made him  _ want  _ to see it. 

A man fell as they watched. There had been too much blood soaking his shirt, dripping from the hem, and Jeongin turned his face away quickly, bringing his nose almost to Minho’s cheek. Minho didn’t even blink. He’d just watched a man die, Jeongin realised, and he hadn’t even blinked. His eyes still held that manic light, burning like a fever as he watched the chaos unfold, and when a bottle hit the wall beside his head and shattered he  _ laughed _ .

"Minho!" Jeongin shouted over the uproar. "We need to get out of here!"

"Oh, Jeongin," Minho said into his ear. "You can’t escape this. This is the  _ future _ . I’ve read it in the guts that washed every street before this. More will come."

And Jeongin tried to back away then. Because the look of belladonna-bright rapture in Minho’s eyes, the fierce certainty in his words, was enough to make him understand everything Seungmin and Hyunjin had warned him against, every fear-touched word they had spoken, every desperate, terrified glance the two of them had exchanged. But Minho’s arm was tight around his waist, holding him fast, so Jeongin simply turned his face to the wall behind Minho’s shoulder and waited for the screams to end.

* * *

Seungmin and Hyunjin were waiting for them, Hyunjin, pale and shaking from the weight of the rage outside, laying out set after set of tarot cards, Seungmin sitting with his eyes shut tight as though he were concentrating. Finding them, Minho realised. Doing his best to check that they were safe, ready to run out into the fray as he had before if he sensed that they were hurt.

Seungmin’s eyes snapped open when they stepped in. Relief flooded his eyes, and Hyunjin let out a faint, broken sound at the sight of them.

"Again," he said. "You went out  _ again _ , Jeongin, you should have stayed with Woojin and Changbin, Seungmin told me that you were going  _ through  _ the riots, why-"

"It’s my fault," Minho said. He felt Jeongin turn to him in surprise. He hadn’t expected Minho to take responsibility for his actions, apparently. But the three of them had just started to be happy together. Minho didn’t want that to break. Not when Seungmin was so scared of losing them anyway. And the riots had taken his energy, left him hollow, no excuses or bright flashing smiles left in him. "I got carried away."

Seungmin sighed. He looked tired. How hard had he been pushing himself, Minho wondered, to locate both of them at once? Even simple magic was a herculean effort for him.  "I’d ask if you knew how dangerous that was, but I think you did. I just think you didn’t care."

"Pretty much," Minho agreed dully.

Hyunjin gave him a long look. "Jeongin," he said. "Can you go upstairs?" Something in the atmosphere must have made it clear that this was personal; Jeongin nodded without protest, heading to his room. The silence settled like dust, cloying and grey, and Minho found that he couldn’t find enough of a spark in him to make a joke.

"Minho…" Hyunjin began. "I don’t know what to say to you."

"I thought you were going to kick off because I put him in danger," Minho suggested. The words fell flat, coming across as petulant rather than humorous. He looked down at the floor.

"Since when has that ever gotten through to you?" Seungmin asked. He looked pained. "We love him, Minho. Do you understand that? Do you understand how it would feel for us to lose him?"

Minho said nothing.

"It would have made you happy, once," Hyunjin said. "To see us like this. With each other, and with him. But you insist on doing things that will get him hurt and I don’t know  _ why,  _ Minho, I don’t-" he broke off, breathing slowly. Seungmin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It does make me happy," Minho whispered. "That you’re happy."

"You don’t seem happy," Hyunjin said. "You haven’t seemed  _ happy _ in a long time, Minho."

Minho hesitated. "I don’t know what you want from me," he said tiredly.

"We want our brother back," Seungmin said, and the simplicity of his words was enough to almost bring tears to Minho’s eyes. "We want things to be the way they were."

Minho stood, the idea of crying in front of the two of them making him feel nauseous. "Times change," he said quietly. "And so do we."

He left before either of them could say another word.

* * *

The riots were over by the time Felix and Jisung headed out. The plan was dinner; nothing fancy, but something more than what they had in their sparse cupboards. Hand in hand, they walked through empty streets, doing their best to ignore flashes of red and gold on the cobblestones. There was far too much red to ignore altogether. More than there had been on previous days. Felix gripped Jisung's hand tighter, and Jisung shot him a reassuring smile.

"It all ended hours ago, Lix," he said. "We'll be fine." Felix tried to smile, hoping that the dim light of the streetlights masked the fact that he couldn't quite manage it.

The restaurant was closed when they arrived, light shining from a single window. "Wait here," Jisung said. "I'll see if I can wrangle us a meal." He winked and pulled himself up over the wall, heading around the back of the restaurant. Felix laughed softly, leaning up against the wall to wait for him. He really hadn’t ever met anyone quite like Jisung.

On the ground beside him, a glint of gold caught his eye. A triskele, lost by a rioter. He picked it up, turning it and letting it catch the light. He wondered when this would end. If it would ever end. He was playing his own part in pushing it further, he supposed.

"That yours?" The voice came from his left.

"No," he said, turning to see a tall man, blood matting the hair at his temple. Fear tugged at his chest. "No, it's not mine."

The man scoffed. "Of course you'd say that. You're one of them, aren't you? One of those fucking sorcerers, taking what you want from the rest of us." He took a step closer, eyes fever-bright and hands shaking, and Felix tried to back away. He couldn't. The wall was cold and damp behind him, no trace of the sun’s warmth left in the stone.

"Do you think you're better than me?" The man asked, voice low and ugly.

"I- no. I'm not a sorcerer, I can't do magic."

"Don't  _ lie  _ to me!" The man was close now, one hand around Felix's throat, and the triskele hit the cobblestones with a clatter as Felix grasped at his fingers. "They should lock you all up. Keep you out of the way. Let the rest of us live in peace without  _ you  _ and your  _ magic _ . But they won't."

And all Felix could focus on was the ugly, manic shine of those eyes as a sharp pain shot through his side and a weakness bled into his limbs. He fell, head knocking against the wall, and watched the man run. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling a warmth there that made his stomach turn.

"Felix!" He heard. "They'll cook for us! I had to promise them a good review, but- Felix?"

"Jisung," Felix said. The word didn't come easily, and he reached out a hand.

"Felix, is that- Felix. Felix, you’re bleeding. No, no, Felix." Felix fell back against the wall as Jisung pushed his jacket aside, untucking his shirt to expose the wound in his stomach.

"Help!" Jisung started shouting. It sounded so far away. Felix wished he’d come closer. He needed Jisung beside him. Why did he sound so far away?

"Help us! Someone, help us!" His voice was hoarse by the time he stopped, turning to cradle Felix in his arms. "Lix. Stay with me. Don't close your eyes, Lix, you can't- Help! Please!" Footsteps in the alley, echoing strangely in his ears. The pain in his side. Jisung, holding him tight.

And then nothing.


	11. chapter eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Minho gets (another) call out.
> 
> Next update Friday!

Jisung hadn't wanted to leave Felix's side. He had screamed himself hoarse until the paramedics allowed him in the back of the ambulance just to stop him tearing out his own hair. He had quieted down once he was inside, answering their questions as best he could. They didn't let him touch Felix, and he had cried as he watched them strip off his shirt to see the wound and stem the bleeding. He looked so fragile, so pale, so unlike the morning they had spent in sunlight, Jisung pressing kisses to his skin as he laughed. It felt like a lifetime ago.

When they arrived at the hospital, Jisung wasn't allowed to follow. He didn't scream this time, knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. He just sat down in a chair in the waiting room and kept on crying. You were supposed to go into shock, he thought, when something like this happened. You were supposed to go numb. But Jisung  _ hurt _ .

After maybe an hour and a half, an older woman sat down next to him, offering him a handkerchief and a glass of water. "I hope you’ll excuse me, but… you've been crying for quite a while," she said softly.

"I know," Jisung said. "Sorry. Thank you."

"Have you had bad news?"

"I don't know,” Jisung managed to say, although tears threatened to choke him at the thought of Felix, pale and cold and bleeding. “I don't know yet."

"Then- I know it’s perhaps not my place to say, but... there's hope.” She took his hand in her own. "Always hold on to hope. It can get us through the darkest of times."

"Is there hope for you?" Jisung asked. The woman's smile crumpled a little at the corners, eyes shining.

"It's a little too late for hope in my case," she said, the tremble in her voice barely noticeable, "but my husband hasn't been well for a while. It's a mercy for him, I think." She paused, blinking away her tears and squeezing Jisung's hand. "And life goes on for me." 

Without thinking, Jisung wrapped his arms around her, and the two of them held each other, strangers finding scraps of comfort in a too-clean waiting room at midnight.

"Relatives of Mr Lee Felix?" A voice came from the doorway, and Jisung suddenly found that he couldn't breathe.

"Is that you?" his new friend asked. He nodded. "He's here!" she called to the doctor in the doorway. "Relative of Mr Lee Felix is here!" The doctor approached, face carefully composed, and Jisung really couldn't breathe now, could feel his heart in his chest, beating so hard it hurt.

"We've done what we can," the doctor told him gently. "Thankfully, the wound wasn’t as deep as it looked, but there’s a risk of infection. We want to keep an eye on it for a good few days."

"Can I see him?" Jisung asked, voice hoarse. "Can I please- I just need to-"

The doctor sighed. He looked tired, Jisung noticed. The kind of exhaustion that weighs down in paper-thin layers, building until it’s almost impossible to hold.

"Visiting hours are over, but frankly... it's been a rough night. I've had to deliver too much bad news. He's in room 325. You can have an hour, and then leave and come back for 8am, ok? I’ll let the nurses know, so don’t even think about trying to stay the night."

"Thank you," Jisung said desperately. "Thank you, thank you- I don't-  _ Thank you." _

The woman beside Jisung squeezed his hand. "I'm happy for you," she said, and the sincerity in her voice made Jisung's chest ache. "Remember to have hope, ok?"

Jisung nodded. "I will," he said. "Thank you." She let go of his hand, smiling encouragingly, and Jisung tried to steady his breathing as he headed for the stairwell and room 325.

* * *

Jisung almost daren't enter Felix's hospital room. The third floor was quiet, the occasional nurse making their way along the corridors with trolleys. Some of them ignored Jisung totally, others smiling at him sympathetically as he stared at the door. The number 325 was hung there in false-gold lettering, shining faintly in the dim electric light.

"You should go in," one of the nurses said softly. "You never know how much time you have." He had freckles. Jisung almost cried.

He opened the door.

Felix was lying in the bed, sheets tucked around him, starched hospital gown a sickly shade of blue. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing the freckles high on his cheeks. Jisung took a step closer, just enough to see Felix's chest rising and falling; he had never been so relieved to see so small a movement.

Carefully, he closed the door behind him, trying not to make noise as though it would wake Felix. It was a silly notion, one he dismissed as soon as the door was closed. He gave a slight laugh that almost came out as a sob.

"I'm being silly, Lix," he said softly. "I wish you'd laugh at me." Felix didn't stir.

Slowly, Jisung headed to the chair beside Felix's bed. He took his hand, trying to ignore the way his own shook. "I've only got an hour, Lix," he said. "But I'll be back tomorrow as soon as they let me. And the day after. And the next day, and the next until you wake up." His voice was starting to shake, tears blurring his vision. He tried to blink them away. "I promise you, Felix, I'll be here. So you have to wake up, ok? You have to wake up so you can tell me how stupid I'm being and that I need to keep working on the case." He was holding Felix's hand too tight. Felix looked so fragile, so breakable, and Jisung couldn't be the one to break him. Slowly, Jisung released his hand. "I love you," he choked out. "God, I love you."

He cried until the freckled nurse told him, gently, that his hour was up and he had to go home. So Jisung headed back to his empty office and just kept crying.

* * *

Changbin ended up in Woojin’s bed again that night. It had felt strange, but not unpleasant, for both of them to curl up in his, but there was a ritual to things when it came to Changbin knocking on Woojin’s door. It was comforting.

"What do you think about Minho?" he asked softly, trying to distract himself from the way Woojin’s fingertips dragged softly up and down his arm.

"There’s something wrong about him," Woojin whispered. "I don’t know what it is."

"You don’t think he’s honest?"

"I don’t think he wants to help Chan. What he’s doing might help Chan, but I don’t think that’s what Minho wants out of it."

Changbin hummed thoughtfully. He forgot, sometimes, how perceptive Woojin could be. How he saw things on a different level to other people.

"I think we should help him," he said as Woojin shifted and curled up with his back against Changbin’s chest. "Just to get Chan out of there. I know it won’t be the kindest way to help, but he’ll never leave that house otherwise. Do you remember how unhappy he’d get sometimes?"

"Mm," Woojin replied. "He hated being there."

"I think you’re right about Minho. I don’t think he’s honest. But I think Jeongin is, and he’s working with him."

"Jeongin wouldn’t want Chan to get hurt," Woojin mused.

"I don’t think he would." Changbin heard Woojin sigh faintly as he tentatively leaned his forehead to the back of Woojin’s neck. Maybe one day, he thought, they’d be able to be this close without Changbin feeling guilty for falling in love with his best friend. What would Woojin even say, he wondered, if he knew how this closeness made Changbin’s heart hum?

"I still don’t trust Minho," Woojin said quietly. "But I think we might have to work with him. Even if it means letting them into the crypt."

Changbin shuddered a little, and Woojin turned his head slightly back to him, gave a reassuring hum. “They’re only bones, Changbin.”

"I don’t want to think about them."

"Ok. We’ll think about something else," Woojin said softly. "Think about the stars, or flowers, or bird’s nests. Things that made us happy up there."

_ Y _ _ ou _ , Changbin thought to himself.  _ I’d rather think about you _ .

But he said nothing, and Woojin didn’t question his silence.

* * *

There was a note on Jisung and Felix's door when Minho arrived in the morning. An address. A room number of a hospital. Minho's blood went cold. He hailed a taxi as quickly as he could, bolting up the hospital stairs to the room listed.

And in the bed, freckles stark against pale skin and paler sheets, was Felix.

"Minho?" Jisung spoke from the corner of the room, half asleep in the chair beside the bed, Felix's hand in his.

"Jisung, what... What happened?"

"He got stabbed," Jisung said, slow and hollow. "I was gone for five minutes. the restaurant was closed," he explained absently, "and I was asking them just to cook for the two of us. And I came back and he was...."

"Is he- will he...?"

"Survive? I don't know." He turned back to Felix. "I don't know," he said, and the words were more desolate than anything Minho had ever heard from him.

"We thought the riots were over," he continued as Minho hovered in the doorway, unwilling to get close to Felix when he looked so still, so silent. "They'd been over for hours, I thought we were safe. Felix didn't. He was so nervous. God, I should have fucking listened to him."

He fell silent. Minho couldn't think of what to say.

"I'm in love with him," Jisung said quietly after a moment.

"I know," Minho whispered, and Jisung cut him off.

"No, you don't," he said, too loud in the small space. "You don't know what it means to be in love. You don't know what this is like." He stopped, breathing like he might cry. "I was going to spend the rest of my fucking life with him."

Minho waited.

"You can go," Jisung muttered eventually. "I know you hate hospitals."

And Minho left.

* * *

Woojin and Changbin had little trouble finding the address Minho had given them. The lights were on inside, music echoing through the windows, and Woojin stepped back so that Changbin could knock. After a moment, a man they didn't recognise answered the door. He was beautiful in the half-light, long limbs and full lips cast in shadow.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Hi," Changbin managed to say. Woojin could tell he was flustered, and felt a hint of envy settle in his chest. Although, he thought as the stranger leaned against the doorframe, he couldn’t blame him. "Lee Minho gave us this address?"

"Oh! Woojin and Changbin, is it? Come in. Minho!" He called as he led the two of then through into the living room. "Your groundskeepers are here!" Changbin and Woojin hesitated at the threshold of the room, taking in the scene. Jeongin, in the arms of another man, dancing slowly to the music from the wireless. The man who had greeted them, leaning on the doorframe like before and watching the two of them sway with a soft smile. And Minho, lounging on the sofa, drink in hand, eyes on the ceiling.

"Good to see you both," he said lazily, although he hadn't cast them so much as a glance. "This is Seungmin, and Hyunjin. They'll be assisting in our endeavour, should you two choose to help us." Jeongin pulled away from Seungmin, hands remaining clasped, and Woojin smiled at them softly.

"We've thought about what you said," Changbin told him. He hadn't even greeted the two strangers. Minho unnerved him, Woojin decided. It was rare that people unnerved Changbin; he could get along with almost anyone. Woojin himself was proof of that. "We'll help you. We know a way to sneak into the grounds, and we know where the crypt is. But after that, we'll have no more to do with this."

Minho smiled; it was bright and sharp, but there was something off about it, a broken-mirror glaze that made Woojin nervous. “Don’t worry,” he said. "We don't need you to. But if you’re willing to get involved with this…” he swung his legs off the sofa, sitting up and meeting Changbin’s eyes. “Let’s get started.”

* * *

Jisung had taken to taking naps in the chair beside Felix’s bed. He hadn’t intended to; but he wasn’t sleeping well at home, bed feeling too big for just him, ending up staring at the ceiling and remembering Felix’s warmth beside him rather than actually trying to sleep. And so, he had fallen asleep in the wooden chair, the nurses gently waking him when it was time for him to leave.

"You’ll be asleep when he wakes up," they’d tease. "You’ll miss him."

Felix was healing, he was told. But he was under heavy pain medication that kept him asleep, morphine carrying him to untold depths of velvet slumber.

"We’ve been slowly reducing the pain medication," the doctor told him as he walked in on this particular morning. "He should be waking up soon once it’s left his system."

Jisung felt his heart beat faster, hope soaring from where he’d been carefully keeping it contained. "Really? He’ll be ok?"

The doctor smiled. "I think he will, Jisung. If he keeps healing at this rate he’ll be able to go home in a few days, provided no strenuous exercise for a good few weeks."

"Of course! I’ll look after him, he won’t even have to move."

The doctor laughed. "I trust you, Jisung. You care for him a lot, I can tell." He smiled as he left to continue his rounds, and Jisung couldn’t help letting out a brief hum of joy. Felix was going to wake up. Felix was going to come  _ home _ .

"I can’t wait to hear your voice again, Lix," Jisung said softly. "I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you." And he imagined that Felix’s eyelashes fluttered in response.

Felix didn’t wake within that hour. Or the next. Or the next. Jisung did his best not to fall asleep, holding Felix’s hand and talking himself hoarse while visiting hours ticked on.

"You’ve got to wake up while I’m here," he said. "I want to be the first person you see."

But Felix didn’t even stir until ten minutes before Jisung had to leave. His fingers twitched. Nothing more than that.

"Let me stay," Jisung begged a nurse. "Please. I have to be here when he wakes up." She gave him a long look.

"You can have an extra two hours," she said eventually. "And that’s only because I you went and bought me cigarettes yesterday." She winked, and Jisung thanked her over and over until she laughed, blushing. "Buy me more cigarettes, you charmer," she said. "Any more pretty words and your young man will think you’re flirting."

Felix grew more and more active over the next hour. His hands jolted in Jisung’s; his eyes flicked from side to side; he murmured in his sleep.

"Hey," Jisung whispered to him. "I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here."

He woke half an hour later. Jisung had been staring out the window, absently running a thumb over Felix’s knuckles, when he heard the rustle of the pillowcase. Felix turned his head. Opened his eyes a little.

"‘Sung?" he rumbled, words slurring. "Whr ‘m I?"

And Jisung burst into tears. He waved his hands frantically when Felix tried to sit up to comfort him, pushing gently on his shoulders until he stayed in bed. "I need to get a nurse," he managed to say. "Don’t move."

He hit the corridor at a sprint, flying past open doors until he saw a flash of blue uniform. "Nurse!" he shouted. She turned. “Felix is awake,” he panted, and her eyes widened as she smiled.

"I’ll be right there," she said. "Go make sure he stays put."

And so Jisung ran back to Felix’s room, still crying, to find Felix still in bed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Hi," he said. "I’m so glad you’re awake."

"I don’t…" Felix said slowly. “The restaurant?”

Jisung sat down on the chair, reaching for Felix’s hands. "You got stabbed, Lix. I don’t know what happened, I came back and you were just- there was so much blood, I was so scared, I was  _ so _ -"

He broke down again just as the nurse opened the door. "Oh, Jisung," she said kindly. "Sorry about this, Felix. He’s been waiting a while for you to wake up." She leaned closer. "Kept falling asleep in the chair," she stage whispered, and Felix turned his gaze to Jisung with an expression of pure adoration and wonder. Jisung sniffled.

"You know I have to ask you to go now, right?" the nurse asked.

Jisung nodded. "Yeah,” he said thickly. "I’ll be back tomorrow, Lix," he said. "I promise." Felix held his hands as he tried to pull away, eyes wide and still muddled with morphine, and Jisung leaned in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "It’s ok," he said gently. "You can let go." Slowly, Felix released his hands, and Jisung smiled at him as best he could before he walked out the door.

He managed to hold back the next bout of tears until he was off hospital grounds. He sat down on a wall beneath a lamppost and cried until his head ached. Felix was alive. Felix was coming home. Jisung didn’t think he’d ever been so happy. So why couldn’t he stop crying?

He took a deep breath. Dried his eyes on his sleeve. He didn’t need to cry, he told himself as he stared up at the sky through the glare of city lights.

Everything was going to be fine.


	12. chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the moment you've all been waiting for. Well. One of them.
> 
> Thank you for reading so far!

Changbin sighed heavily. The sky was darkening above the city, night drawing in, and he and Woojin were waiting at the base of the hill leading up to Chan’s house. A light rain was falling, dusting the surface of his coat with a faint shine, and Woojin shivered a little against the cold. Had the situation been any different, Changbin would have pulled him close, done his best to warm him.

But they were out here waiting for Minho and Seungmin, and as much as Changbin knew they were allies, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Minho’s inevitable faintly sarcastic response to him holding Woojin.

Not that he should be considering holding Woojin anyway. Not in that sense.

"I think I can hear them," Woojin said softly, and Changbin listened out for the sound of footsteps in the rain.

"Woojin? Changbin?" Seungmin’s voice. It had been decided, after an hour or so of discussion (mostly Minho talking) that Hyunjin and Jeongin would remain behind. Three people would be more than enough for this.

"We’re here," Changbin called out, and watched as two figures appeared from the shadows between the trees. Seungmin matched their own dark attire, whereas Minho wore a suit of light autumnal grey. He flashed Changbin a smile.

"Glad we’re all present," he said. "Woojin and Changbin, you take Seungmin up to your secret entrance and show them where the crypt is. All we need from there is one bone from each parent, so don’t take your time. I’ll be keeping Chan distracted, but I’d rather you all be in and out within plenty of time. Happy?" Everyone nodded. Woojin’s hand brushed against Changbin’s. "Good. Give me forty minutes from now."

Minho disappeared without another word, suit fading away into the night like a pale moth. Seungmin turned to face Changbin and Woojin.

"Forty minutes then," he said softly. "How long will it take us to get into position?"

"Maybe twenty from here," Changbin told him. "It’s not a long walk but the terrain is rough."

"We should start, then," Seungmin said. "I don’t know it as well as you, and in the dark… I’d rather we give ourselves plenty of time."

Woojin nodded, and Changbin steeled himself. He really didn’t like the thought of the crypt. The dark and the dust and the bones.

"Ok then," he said firmly. "Let’s go."

* * *

They reached the wall with plenty of time to spare; it was a blessing that Seungmin had made them set off so early, given that Woojin and Changbin had trouble finding the gap they used to climb through. Seungmin stood by, obviously agitated, as the two of them pushed at the thick ropes of ivy and bindweed wrapped around the old stones.

"It’s been years," Changbin pointed out. "No wonder it’s a little overgrown. We’ll find it, though." Beside him Woojin took a step away, hovering in Changbin’s peripheral vision. Changbin thought he saw him close his eyes.

A few feet away from him, the ivy rustled. White bindweed flowers glowed in the night as they pulled away, revealing crumbling stone held in place by moss and lichen.

"Over here," Woojin called softly. Changbin blinked. He couldn’t have just seen that. He couldn’t.

"We have five minutes to wait," Seungmin said. "I want to do this to time. Minho may be unreliable sometimes, but I trust him on this."

Woojin nodded, crouching down to let the minutes pass, and Changbin tried to stop himself staring. He hadn’t just seen Woojin do magic. He hadn’t just seen Woojin move the vines with nothing more than a thought.

But he’d known for a while, really, hadn’t he? Woojin’s affinity with the roses. The way he truly seemed to be able to communicate with them. The way they would bloom only for him.

Changbin tried to breathe. Now wasn’t the time to panic about this. Woojin was a sorcerer, had been the whole time and had never told him, but  _ now  _ wasn’t the time to panic.

But he and Woojin told each other everything. Shared every secret.

_ You haven’t _ , some bitter voice said.  _ There are secrets you haven’t told him, things you think about every time he so much as touches you. _

But this was different, he decided. This wasn’t something that would affect the way he and Woojin saw each other, this was-

Unless Woojin thought it would affect the way Changbin saw him.

Unless Woojin thought that Changbin would care about him being a sorcerer, would hate him for it. The thought made him feel sick.

"Time to go," Seungmin said. "Changbin, lead the way."

"What?" Changbin had barely heard him.

"We need to get in, Changbin, come  _ on _ ."

"Right." Changbin shook himself a little, slipping through the gap in the wall. He felt Woojin give him a worried glance, reach out a hand to touch his shoulder, but he ignored it. That wasn’t something he could process now. There were bigger things at stake.

* * *

Chan answered the door more quickly than usual. He must have been close, Minho supposed, not lost in the vast maze of corridors making up the manor. He was smiling broadly, dimples in his cheeks, and Minho felt as though someone had undone a knot in his chest at the sight of it. He ignored the sensation.

"Hi," he said. "Sorry, it's a little late, I just… felt like dropping by. I’m afraid I forgot your jacket." He hadn’t. He had picked it up, meant to take it with him, and as the faint scent of Chan’s cologne had risen from it, he had decided there would most likely be another opportunity to take it back. He had hated himself a little.

Chan’s smile somehow got wider, and he glanced down at the floor as though to hide it. God, that was endearing. Minho couldn’t stand it. "That’s ok," he said. "It’s not that late. Come in."

Minho followed him inside, trying to ignore the way their hands brushed when he reached to support the door, Chan’s awkward laugh as he pulled his fingers out from beneath Minho’s.  _ You just want him _ , he told himself.  _ You’ve been over this. _

"I think I’ve shown you most of the house," Chan said to him. "And it’s a little dark to show you more of the gardens."

Minho smiled at him, pretended he didn’t feel the faint flush in Chan’s thoughts. "That’s fine. We can just… talk."

"Sounds good," Chan agreed softly, gentle eyes meeting his, and Minho felt the tension rise for just a moment. Not in a bad way, not in a way that made him fear for his friends and their plan, but like a flower about to bloom. He could kiss Chan then, he realised. He could kiss him and Chan would almost certainly kiss him back.

"Should we sit in the library?" he managed to ask. "I like it in there."

Chan beamed. "Sure," he said. "It’s your favourite room, right?"

Minho laughed, feeling the tension fade. "It is. What’s yours? I imagine you know them all a good deal better since you live here."

He listened to Chan hum thoughtfully. Was everything Chan did going to affect him like this?  _ If this plan works, you won’t see him much more anyway, _ he told himself. The thought failed to be reassuring.

"I like the pavilion," Chan answered eventually. "It’s peaceful there."

"You’ll have to show me sometime."

"I will. It’s the centre of the grounds, so I can feel everything better there."

"You said the whole house was covered in magic," Minho said slowly. "Is that what you mean?"

Chan nodded. Shook his head. "It’s not- not  _ covered _ . It’s tied up. Like a web of old spell that hold it up. A lot of them were performed in the pavilion, so I can feel most of them there."

Minho slumped into an armchair. "I can’t imagine what it must be like. To feel that kind of magic," he said softly.

Chan shrugged sheepishly. "I don’t know how to show you."

"You did ok when you made me climb that tree. I understood what you meant, even if I was scared out of my mind." Chan laughed at that, loud and bright, shaking his head.

"I’m sorry,” he said. “For making you climb."

"Don’t worry," Minho said. "I knew I was safe."

He saw a shift in Chan’s expression then; something soft and sweet in his eyes, the slight flush of his cheeks, the way his lips parted. But he stood and the moment passed as he headed to a side table, opening a drawer and pulling out a watch. He crouched in front of Minho, holding it out in his palm.

"It’s like a watch," he said softly. "Every spell, all the magic cast by every generation here ticks together. Interlocked." Minho felt his breath catch as Chan gently reached for his hand, placing it over the top of the watch. He felt it tremble, heard the mechanisms collapse and spread apart, and when he lifted his hand the clockwork was scattered, floating above Chan’s palm in a state of permanent, gentle explosion.

"Did you feel it?" Chan asked. His tone was so gentle, so full of patience and of awe.

"Not quite," Minho said after he’d collected himself. Chan’s eyes just  _ undid  _ him. "Do it again." He placed his hand above Chan’s, fingertips brushing the delicate blue veins of his wrist, and watched Chan’s expression as he put the watch back together, and took it apart, and put it back together again.

"I feel it," Minho whispered after the fifth time. "How it all fits."

Chan smiled. "That’s how it feels," he said softly. "Only so much bigger." Minho felt him reassemble the watch, heard the gears catch together and the ticking start up, and let out a faint sound of surprise when Chan flipped Minho’s hand and pushed his fingers closed around the watch. “Keep it,” he said, and the quiet sorrow in his tone told Minho this watch meant more to him that he had said.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, and slipped the watch into his pocket. Chan gave him a soft, pained smile, still crouched by his chair, and Minho resisted the urge to drop to his knees on the carpet beside him and kiss that sad, sad smile away.  _ Stop it, _ he told himself.  _ Stop thinking about kissing him _ . He was struggling to even pretend his interest was purely physical anymore.

"Are you hungry?" Chan asked out of the blue. "I know it’s maybe a little late to eat, but… I’ve been practising soup."

Minho grinned. "I’d be honoured to taste it," he said.

Minho laughed more than he had in a while cooking with Chan. He was clumsy at cutting up vegetables still, pulling faces at the wonky chunks he produced and rearranging the pot so that they rested beneath Minho’s neat cubes. He jumped a little when the water began to boil, hitting Minho with a tea towel when he laughed. And his expression when he held out a spoon for Minho to taste, nervous and happy and flushed with heat from the stove, had Minho’s heart melting.

"How is it?" he asked.

"It’s good!" Minho said with a smile, and Chan just  _ shone _ .

"I’m glad," he said quickly. "I’ve tried a few times and it didn’t come out right the first three and I wasn’t sure why, but I suppose I must have figured it out in the end since it’s not awful- you’re not just being nice, are you?"

"Taste it yourself," Minho suggested, laughing faintly. He watched Chan take a sip, gentle eyes widening in joy.

"It’s actually good," he said with an incredulous grin. "Come on, I’ve got some bread up here."

They took their time over the food, each of them having second helpings of the soup, and Chan pulled out another bottle of wine after dinner.

"I understand if you have to go," he said slowly. "It’s late, after all, but I thought we could…?"

"I’m not going to say no to that," Minho said with a wink, and as Chan poured the wine into their glasses he felt just a little more like himself.

* * *

The crypt was just as Changbin remembered it. It was a place he’d always tried to avoid gardening around, convincing Woojin to take care of it for him when he was told to cut the grass or check on the flowers. He could never come up with a logical reason for why it unnerved him so. He just disliked being so close to the dead.

"How do we get in?" Seungmin asked, voice carrying in the dark.

"This way," Woojin whispered. Changbin had never been inside, of course, but Woojin had been curious in the way lonely children often are, and had explored. Changbin watched him step forwards, lifting one of the heavy door handles and pulling hard. The scrape of metal against stone split the night, and all three of them winced. They waited. Nothing happened. No figures ran from the house. No sorcerer struck them down. Changbin wondered what Minho was doing to keep Chan so distracted.

"Come on," Seungmin whispered. "Changbin, come in with me. Woojin, keep watch." Changbin hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to be in that crypt, surrounded by the dead and their epitaphs. But Seungmin was gone, and he had no time to argue.

It was dark enough to make Changbin stop in his tracks. Some faint light filtered in from the door, just enough to turn every shadow a different shade of grey, but it was by no means enough to see by. Things were made somewhat worse when Seungmin clicked on a torch, sweeping the beam around the room.

"Help me clear the dust off these. We need to see the names." Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Changbin swept the dust off the stone where Seungmin was shining the light. The wrong name. Dates a hundred years too early.

"Maybe we need to go further back," Seungmin mused, flicking his torch towards the distant back wall. "Or down, if there’s a staircase."

"Whatever we do, can we do it fast?" Changbin asked. His voice shook.

"Don’t like the dark?"

"Don’t like the dead."

Seungmin hummed. "Fair enough," he said. "Let’s get moving."

By Seungmin’s watch, it took them about half an hour to find the right coffins. They’d had to head further in than Changbin liked, the dusk from the door disappearing behind them, but they had found Chan’s parents. The right dates, the right names.

"Help me lift off the lid."

Changbin swallowed. He really didn’t want to do this. But he stood by Seungmin, braced his hands against the lip of the stone lid, and pushed. The sound echoed. Changbin turned away before he could see any of the bones, eyes shut tight against the glow of Seungmin’s flashlight. He heard something like the rattle of dried wood.

"Got it," Seungmin said. "Let’s push the lid back on."

The fresh air, once they were out, felt sweet as honey in Changbin’s lungs. There had been so much dust in that crypt, just dirt and powder and bones, and it had been making him feel ill. He heard Seungmin cough from beside him, holding in his arms something wrapped in cloth. Changbin tried not to think about it.

"Let’s get out of here," he said as Woojin pushed the door shut. "I need to go home."

"I need to get this to Hyunjin," Seungmin agreed. "Come on."

Changbin led the way back to the road where they would part ways, a street lamp illuminating the coating of dust on himself and Seungmin.

"Thank you," Seungmin said to them. "We’ll let you know what happens, if you want."

"It’ll be in the papers, I assume," Woojin said quietly. Seungmin nodded. "Then there’s no need to tell us. We’ll find out."

"Ok," Seungmin agreed. "I’ll see you around, then." He disappeared towards the city with a wave, the bone tucked casually under his arm.

"Let’s go home," Changbin said quietly.

"Are you- Is everything ok?" Woojin asked as they started walking.

"It’s fine, Woojin," Changbin lied. "Let’s just go home."

* * *

Minho stopped feeling like himself somewhere around his third glass of wine. Chan was lying on his back on the rug, eyes shining in the light of the fire (they’d giggled like children as Chan had tried again and again to strike a match with uncoordinated hands until he’d simply pulled a flame out of the air onto his fingertip), and Minho had somehow ended up with a hand in his hair, running his fingers through it gently. It was so soft, and every little sigh Chan gave had his heart coming apart at the seams.

"I’m so glad it rained that day," Chan murmured. He was further gone than Minho, presumably from not spending years developing an excellent tolerance to alcohol.

"What day?" Minho asked.

"The day you and Jeongin went riding and your horses bolted. The day I met you."

"...I’m glad it rained too," Minho said quietly. "I’m glad we met."

Chan hummed in response, tilting his head a little so it was closer to Minho’s hand and brushing his ankle with his fingertips. Minho thought he might cry. He was too drunk for this. For Chan being so soft, so tactile. So  _ honest _ .

"I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you," Chan said softly. "It gets hard here, sometimes. I wasn’t at my best then."

And god, that broke Minho’s heart. He thought he felt it crack, felt blood seeping into the hollow spaces of his lungs and making it hard to speak. "But you’re better now?" he asked.

"Mm," Chan responded. "You make things better."

"You’re probably the first person to tell me that," he said, throat tight. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t fucking do this. Not when he couldn’t even lie to himself that this was just lust, or the spark that came with solving a case.

Chan tilted his head back, meeting Minho’s eyes upside-down. "Then people are wrong about you," he said. "They should look closer." And Minho could do nothing but watch as Chan reached up and caressed his cheek gently. He closed his eyes, trying not to lean into the touch.

"I think people look close enough these days," he said. His voice shook a little. "I have nosy friends. Come on. Let’s get you to bed."

"Ok," Chan said softly, letting Minho support him as he got to his feet. He directed Minho to his room, sat down on the bed with a sigh.

"You’re ok sorting yourself out?" Minho asked.

"Mmn," Chan said. Minho didn’t think he was. But too many lines had been crossed tonight, and Minho wasn’t about to make undressing Chan one of them.

"I’ll see you soon, ok?" he said. Chan smiled softly at him.

"Bye, Minho," he said. And then nothing. Minho thought maybe he’d fallen asleep.

He crept out of the house, turning off lights and cleaning up dinner plates as he went. After some deliberation, he left a note for Chan, joking about him being a lightweight and saying he’d see him soon. Just enough to let Chan know he didn’t have to worry about Minho being put off, but that he’d be a little embarrassed.

The grounds were silent as he closed the front door behind him. He checked the watch Chan had given him. He’d been there at least five hours. If that wasn’t enough time for his friends to carry out their end of the plan, then at least Chan wasn’t likely to be waking up any time soon.

He did his best not to think about the way Chan had looked at him, fingertips brushing his skin. Those thoughts were best left by the fireside, at the bottom of a glass of wine, ready to gather dust.

* * *

"I'm heading to bed," was the first thing Woojin said when they walked in the front door. "I'm exhausted."

"Because we just robbed a crypt or because you used more magic than usual?" Changbin asked softly. Woojin froze.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, voice trembling a little.

"You do," Changbin argued. "So don't lie to me, Woojin. I've suspected for years, and the way those vines moved tonight? I know that was you."

Woojin turned to him, eyes wide with fear. Changbin didn't think he'd ever seen him look so scared.

"Changbin-" he said, shaking in earnest now. "I didn't- it didn't matter, I didn't even realise until I was fourteen and then I didn't know how to tell you and it just got too late because I'd kept it a secret so long-"

"Was that what the roses wanted you to tell me?" Changbin asked. "That you're a sorcerer?"

Woojin's face crumpled. "No," he whispered. He wouldn't meet Changbin's eyes.

"Then what, Woojin? What other secret are you keeping?" He paused. Tried to read Woojin’s expression. Did this mean what he thought it meant? The way Woojin held him in the mornings, the way he had looked at him ever since they were children. It couldn't. Changbin couldn't have misunderstood him for so long. "I- I see you looking at me, sometimes, when you think I'm not paying attention and- and I tell myself it doesn't mean what I think it does because I couldn't bear it if I gave myself hope and I was wrong. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?"

"I- Changbin-" Woojin seemed so afraid, backing away inch by inch. Changbin couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t see him cowering, making himself as small as possible as though expecting a blow.

"I love you," he said. He hadn’t planned to say it. Hadn’t thought this through. But Woojin was  _ scared _ , and Changbin had to fix it. "No, I- that’s wrong. You know I love you, Woojin. What I'm trying to say is that I'm  _ in _ love with you."

Woojin stared at him with wide eyes. For a moment, he didn’t speak. "Say that again?" he asked, barely audible.

Changbin took a breath. Tried to slow the beat of his heart. "I'm in love with you," he repeated.

"Oh," Woojin said softly. He looked a little lost. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking. I wouldn't  _ joke  _ about something like this, Woojin. I mean it." He waited for a reply, heart sinking with every second that passed. This had been a mistake. Every glance, every touch had been a misinterpretation.

"That's what the roses wanted me to tell you," Woojin said suddenly. "They wanted me to tell you I was in love with you."

"They- what?" Changbin asked faintly. Had he heard that right? He couldn't have heard that right.

"I love you," Woojin said, and he sounded braver, more sure of himself, than Changbin had ever heard him.

Changbin hesitated. “Is that- is that it, are we- I don’t know, sorted?” he asked.

Woojin shrugged gently. “I suppose we are.” He still looked lost.

"I sort of want you to kiss me now," Changbin admitted. Woojin’s eyes widened briefly. He took a step. And another. And then before Changbin could register that this was happening, this was  _ real _ , Woojin had crossed the room and leaned down to kiss him, soft and hesitant as though he didn't quite believe it either. He tasted of earth and rain and blackberries and in all the hours Changbin had spent imagining this kiss, he’d never thought it would be so sweet.

Woojin pulled away, smiling broadly. "That feels more sorted," he whispered.

"I didn’t say you could  _ stop _ ," Changbin complained, following his lips, and Woojin laughed more brightly than Changbin had heard in a long time. He kissed Changbin again, once, twice, and Changbin gasped a little as Woojin lifted him carefully by his waist so that he was seated on the table, still pressing soft, momentary kisses to Changbin's lips as he did so.

"Did you plan that?" Changbin asked as Woojin pulled away to smile shyly at him. "That was too smooth, you have to have planned that."

Woojin dipped his head. "Since I outgrew you," he mumbled. "I realised the height difference would be awkward."

Changbin laughed out loud, pulling Woojin closer again. "And you found a solution." He kissed Woojin again, still feeling dizzy with it. He was kissing Woojin. This was really happening. "I love you," he said. It felt so good to say that. Changbin had been holding it in for years after all, an undercurrent to every word he had spoken to Woojin since he realised.

_ "Did you sleep well?" (I love you.) _

_ "Help me reach the apples. The tree's too tall." (I love you.) _

_ "It's ok to be quiet. You don't have to say anything to me." (I love you, love you,  love you. ) _

"I love you too," Woojin murmured, soft as rose petals, and Changbin pulled him close and kissed him until he forgot the world.

* * *

Hyunjin and Jeongin had waited up for Seungmin, each nursing a cup of coffee in the dim light of the kitchen. The two of them were holding hands, Hyunjin’s head resting on Jeongin’s shoulder until Seungmin entered and he jumped to his feet.

"You made it! Are you ok? Are those…?" He gestured to the bundle in Seungmin’s arms.

"Bones," Seungmin confirmed. "I guess they’re for you to decipher now." Carefully, he handed them over, noting the twitch of disgust that passed of Hyunjin’s face. He understood. He hadn’t liked carrying them home, hollow and dead and cold in their cloth. Something in his buried magic balked at the fact that he’d pulled them from their resting place, and Hyunjin could most likely feel it ten times stronger.

"Do you know where Minho is?" Jeongin asked. Seungmin caught himself before he bristled at the question.  _ Minho is Jeongin’s friend _ , he told himself.  _ He has every right to be concerned. You need to stop worrying about Minho taking him from you. _

"He’s still with Chan," Seungmin said. "He didn’t give us a time he’d be back, just said he’d distract Chan for as long as he could."

"Ok," Jeongin murmured. "Do you think we should wait up for him?"

"I will," Seungmin said. "Too much adrenaline to sleep. But you two can go to bed."

Hyunjin gave him a long look, eyes searching before they softened. "I’ll stay up, too," he said. "I should make a start on these bones."

Jeongin looked a little torn. "Go to bed, Jeongin," Seungmin said as gently as he could. "I can tell you’re tired."

"Yeah," Jeongin admitted sheepishly. "I am."

"We’ll see you in the morning," Hyunjin told him, setting the bones gently on the table and pulling Jeongin close to kiss his cheek. Seungmin did the same; a little less bold than Hyunjin, waiting for Jeongin to come to him. He wondered when he’d learn to be so confident in loving Jeongin as Hyunjin was. It would come with time, he hoped. For now, he smiled as Jeongin pulled away and headed for the stairs, and turned to Hyunjin.

"Hey," he said, stepping closer and leaning on his shoulder.

"Hey," Hyunjin said back. "You’re doing well."

"Sorry?"

"When Jeongin asked about Minho. I know you were going to snap at him. I could see it." He glanced slightly past Seungmin’s ear in the way Seungmin knew meant he was looking at his aura, shifting colours bleeding from his skin.

"I shouldn’t  _ want _ to snap at him for something like that," Seungmin said with a sigh. "I know he doesn’t think of Minho that way. I know he… cares about me." He couldn’t say love. He could say for sure that he loved Jeongin, but to put such a word to Jeongin’s feelings for him felt… presumptuous.

"He loves you," Hyunjin corrected gently. "You should see the colour his aura goes when you hold his hand." Seungmin said nothing, and Hyunjin gently lifted his chin to look into his eyes. "He loves you, Seungmin. And so do I."

"I know," Seungmin said. "I love you, too." He leaned up to press his lips to Hyunjin’s, letting the tension of the night ease out of him a little as they kissed. Hyunjin gave a soft sigh as he pulled away, breath brushing Seungmin’s cheek, and turned to the table.

"Stay with me while I read these? I’ve never done it before, and I don’t like the idea of reading something dead."

"Of course," Seungmin said. "I’ll be right here." Hyunjin shot him a grateful smile as he sat down at the kitchen table and unwrapped the bones. They lay there, aged yellow in the light. Something about them made Seungmin itch. Judging by the way Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled shakily made Seungmin think it it wasn’t just him. He took Hyunjin’s hand.

"I’ve got you," he said.

Slowly, Hyunjin placed his other hand upon the bones. Seungmin felt the feeling of it rush through him like a conduit, running sparks into the tendons of Seungmin’s hands where they faded fast, suffocated by the lack of magic in him. He resisted the urge to pull his hand away from Hyunjin’s. The feeling was… ugly. Old and bitter and determined, making him think of sharp eyes in gilt picture frames he’d never seen.

Hyunjin gasped as he wrenched his hand away. He was shaking, and Seungmin half-dragged him out of his chair and into his arms.

"It’s ok," he said, voice trembling. "It’s ok, you don’t need to touch them again, it’s ok."

Hyunjin turned his head, breathing heavily against Seungmin’s shoulder. "It’s so…  _ violent _ . How can magic stay so single-minded even after the sorcerer is dead? It doesn’t have a line to continue anymore, it doesn’t have to fight anymore."

"I know," Seungmin murmured, pulling him closer. "I know. I only felt a little of it and I know."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Hyunjin pulled away, folding the cloth back over the bones so quickly he almost threw it. "Can we sit somewhere else? I don’t want to be near them."

"Good idea," Seungmin said, moving his hand in soothing circles over Hyunjin’s back. "We’ll calm down while we wait for Minho to come back, yeah?"

"You always keep me calm, scrap," Hyunjin said softly, letting Seungmin pull him towards the sofa, and Seungmin wondered, not for the first time, how he had enough space in his heart to adore two people are much as did. It was a blessing, he supposed. To love them.

To be loved in return.

* * *

When Minho returned, the two of them were on the sofa, Hyunjin folded into Seungmin’s arms and having fallen asleep an hour ago. Seungmin waved at him silently, one arm still holding Hyunjin close, and he slumped down in the armchair.

"You ok?" Seungmin whispered.

"Kind of drunk," Minho replied. The words sounded like they took a little too much effort. "Everything work out on your end?"

Seungmin nodded. "Bones are on the table. Hyunjin had a go at them but they’re full of pretty nasty magic. Why are you drunk?"

Minho shrugged a little lopsidedly. "You told me to distract a man I know for sure has an excellent wine cellar. What else was I going to do?"

"I don’t know, talk to him?"

Minho sighed, letting his head fall back. "Nah. Talking to Chan leads to dangerous places. Makes me think too much." His voice trailed off a little towards the end, eyes going distant, and Seungmin realised he’d never really seen Minho like this. How honest would he get, he wondered, with just a little more alcohol in his system? But Minho’s eyes came back into focus after barely a moment, fixing on Hyunjin.

"Where’s your other boyfriend?" he asked. It wasn’t as smooth as his usual topic changes, but Seungmin went along with it.

"He went to bed when I got back. He thought about waiting up for you, though."

"Sweet," Minho murmured. "Jeongin’s always sweet." He grinned. "Extra sweet on you though."

Seungmin tried to hold back a smile at the absurdity of the comment. He’d missed Minho teasing him in a way that didn’t border on malicious. "Shut up," he grumbled.

Minho laughed, loud enough to make Hyunjin stir a little in Seungmin’s arms, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Seungmin giggled at his comically wide eyes.

"I’m going to bed," Minho stage-whispered. "Before I wake him up."

"Good plan," Seungmin agreed with a smile, and he held back a laugh as he watched Minho bump his shoulder into a wall by the stairs.

He should sleep too, he knew. It had been a strange evening, with hidden entrances and shadows in crypts and bitter, blue-blood bones. But the adrenaline of it all was still running a little too high in his system, and Seungmin decided he was content, for now, just to sit in the candlelight of the living room, Hyunjin’s ribcage rising and falling slowly beneath his arm.


	13. chapter thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pining. So much pining. And more bruises on Minho's conscience.
> 
> Next update Thursday!

Chan woke up still dressed from the night before, sprawled awkwardly across his bed in the wrong direction. His head ached, daylight cutting straight through him. He closed his eyes against it. When he thought about it hard, he could form a vague image of Minho, arm around his waist, helping up the stairs and into his room. Had he really got that drunk? He did remember significant amounts of wine.

Chan sat up, trying to register what else he remembered. Minho’s bright, infectious laugh while he tried to light the fire. Minho’s hand in his hair. He breathed out slowly. Drinking that much wine around Minho had been a terrible idea. Not that he hadn’t made a few questionable decisions sober. Placing his hand over Minho’s, trying to memorise the warmth of his skin. Giving him the watch his mother had gifted to his father upon their engagement.

Chan pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He thought he’d dealt with this. Thought he’d talked himself out of it the first time he met Minho, thought he’d suppressed the butterflies. But there it was. The shine in Minho’s eyes. The part of his lips. The way he made Chan laugh.

And he’d given him his father’s watch. A token of which Minho had no clue of the significance. But the way he’d looked at Chan when he finally understood, when he felt every cog fit into place… Chan had felt such a warmth in his chest. It had felt right to give him the watch. A gesture of an affection Minho could never understand.

He’d wanted to kiss Minho then, he realised. Wanted so,  _ so _ badly to kiss him. It wouldn’t be his first kiss. That had been Woojin, years ago, when Chan had insisted that if he were going to confess to Changbin he should at least have some practice. It had been awkward, and young, and strange to kiss a friend. Kissing Minho would be so very far removed from that, Chan thought.

He sighed. He needed to stop this. Clean clothes, he decided. A walk in the fresh air, once the light stopped feeling like needles.

A note caught his eye in the parlour when he headed down to clean up, pinned down by a wine glass.  _ Good morning _ , it read,  _ or perhaps afternoon. I won’t presume to know just how heavy a sleep three glasses of wine have sent you into. _ Chan laughed softly to himself. Obviously Minho hadn’t been nearly so affected.  _ I thought it a little inappropriate to avail myself of a spare bedroom, so I made my way home. I’ll see you soon, I think. I still have your jacket, after all. _ Followed by an utterly illegible scrawl that Chan assumed was Minho’s signature.

He read the note more times that necessary. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from it. Just a taste of Minho’s voice, the way he shaped his words, the jokes he made. It was pathetic, really. But as much as Chan didn’t want it, as much as he tried to push it away and press it down, he felt  _ something  _ for Minho. He would try harder to keep a handle on it, he decided. Try to see Minho as a friend. Like the men his father would have round for dinner, all cigar smoke and well-shined shoes. A friend.

_ Friends don’t take every opportunity to touch each other’s skin _ , some voice in his head told him.  _ Friends don’t watch each other’s lips when they speak. _ Chan shut it out. Minho was his friend.

And nothing more.

* * *

When Minho awoke, sunlight and the sound of Jeongin downstairs pulling him from sleep, the watch was still in his hand. He must have fallen asleep holding it; he vaguely remembered pulling it from his pocket, examining it in the dim lamplight of his room. Tracing the flowers with his fingertips as though searching for some trace of Chan’s warmth within in the metal.

He tried to put that thought aside. Tried not to think of the way the firelight had lit up Chan’s eyes, made them dance with light. He’d been through this last night, told himself again and again that he needed to stop this while he could, stop letting his imagination run away from him when it came to Chan. He’d failed so far, even at the simplest of tasks; pulling his eyes away from Chan’s mouth when he spoke; stopping himself from smiling at even the mention of his name.

And then there was the rest of it. The way Minho wanted to always see him smile, wanted to see him happy and laughing and content, take away any hints of melancholy that crossed his mind. Lying awake at night wondering exactly how the salt of Chan’s skin would taste, how Minho’s name would sound pulled from his lips in a gasp.

It wasn’t something he should think about. It wasn’t something that would ever happen. It shouldn’t be something he  _ wanted  _ to happen. But the way Chan looked at him, sometimes… Like he saw something in Minho. Something that shone. And it made Minho wonder just what it was that Chan wanted.

And now the watch. Minho turned it over in his hands, the metal cool against his skin. He needed to turn it over to Hyunjin, he knew. Chan had used magic on this. It was exactly what they needed as a comparison for the bones.

But Chan had given this to him. Chan had patiently taken it apart and put it back together over and over for him, had looked up at him with such a soft smile when he finally understood. Minho didn’t want to give that away. It felt as though he’d lose the memory along with it, a star fading with the dawn.

But this was the point, wasn’t it? To prove that Chan wasn’t the heir. Minho found himself forgetting that from time to time these days. It wasn’t like him to get so distracted by a pretty face. Normally it would take a day from him, at most. Not leave him with endless sleepless nights, hours spent trying to memorise the voice of the object of his obsession, skin aching to touch theirs.

Minho sighed, holding the watch up to the light. He’d let this go too far. He’d hand the watch over to Hyunjin. Forget about last night. Forget about Chan’s little sighs as Minho stroked his hair. Forget about how he’d wanted to kneel beside him on the plush carpet of the library and kiss him until all that old, old sadness melted away.

Hyunjin was barely awake when Minho knocked on his and Seungmin’s door. Seungmin was fast asleep, curled around Hyunjin as usual, leg thrown over his waist and face pressed into his neck. It made Minho happy to see them so close. He was glad they’d stuck together through everything the world had thrown at them. Through everything he’d left them with.

"Hyunjin?" he called softly.

"Mmph?" Hyunjin opened his eyes slowly, squinting across the room.

"Good morning," Minho said. "This is for you. Chan used magic on it. You can compare it to the bones."

"Leave it… ‘ver there." Hyunjin lifted the arm that wasn’t pinned in place by Seungmin and pointed vaguely to the bedside table before dropping his arm and apparently falling straight back to sleep.

"Ok," Minho whispered. He looked at the watch. Remembered the softness in Chan’s eyes.

Trying not to think about why it was so difficult, he put the watch down on the bedside table and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Hyunjin didn’t want to look at the bones again. They were wrapped in their cloth on the table, the watch Minho had brought home beside them. It really was beautiful, flowers engraved into the metal down to the most delicate veins on their leaves. It was a wonder Chan would give away something so precious. But perhaps it wasn’t, he thought. If Chan felt anything like as strongly for Minho as Minho seemed to for him, it wasn’t a surprise at all that Chan would give him something like this. Hyunjin was surprised Chan hadn’t given him more, in all honesty. Although that was assuming he felt the same way Minho did.

Hyunjin wasn’t sure he wanted to consider what Minho would turn into if Chan didn’t love him back. He was bad enough in a state of barely admitting he felt anything for Chan at all. If this were unrequited… Hyunjin had seen the depths of bitterness Minho could hold within him. He didn’t want to see it again.

Hyunjin sighed, cradling the watch between his palms. He shouldn’t be thinking about Minho right now. This was more important. He focused. From what he could tell, the watch felt… different. The magic that clung to it was gentle, sweet and wandering as dust motes in the sunlight. He tried to read deeper, find any trace of the magic he had felt from the bones. Nothing.

He put the watch down. Steeled himself. Folded back the cloth and placed his palm on the bones within. Felt the salt of it rush through him, pinning him in place as though rooting him in stone. This wasn’t the same. This  _ couldn’t  _ be the same. Even past the emotions embedded in the things before him, there was something different about the feel of them. Like the colours of their auras, if they’d had any. The depths of them.

Hyunjin sat down at the table, realising his legs were shaking a little. They were different. Chan’s magic wasn’t even close to that of his parents.

This was almost all the proof Minho needed.

This was it.

Hyunjin didn’t think he could breathe.

"Hyunjin, do you know where- Hyunjin?" Jeongin crouched beside him, hand resting on his knee, eyes wide with concern. "Hyunjin, what’s wrong?"

Hyunjin placed his hand over Jeongin’s, feeling the familiar sharpness of his magic. Like frost on new leaves, cold and clear and bright.

"I’m ok. Stay here for a moment?"

"Sure," Jeongin said quietly. He pulled up a chair beside Hyunjin, let Hyunjin rest his head on his shoulder. The two of them sat in silence for a while, Hyunjin letting his breathing slow as Jeongin tentatively linked their hands together.

"Ok?" Jeongin asked eventually.

"Mm," Hyunjin confirmed. "I just panicked."

"About this?" Jeongin gestured to the bones and the watch.

"Yeah," Hyunjin murmured, nuzzling closer into Jeongin’s neck so his breath brushed his collarbones.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Hyunjin said. He sighed. "It just confirms everything. Minho’s going to be insufferable."

"You’re going to tell him the truth, then?" Jeongin asked softly. Hyunjin glanced up, surprised.

"How did you know I was thinking about lying to him?"

"I just know you," Jeongin said softly. "I know you think he’s on the wrong path with Chan."

"I do. But I won’t lie to him. I’ll just try to talk some sense into him."

Jeongin snorted. "Good luck with that."

Hyunjin couldn’t hold back a laugh at Jeongin’s expression. He was so glad he and Seungmin had found him. He wondered if Jeongin knew that. Perhaps they should tell him.

"I love you," he said instead, "so very much." He barely gave Jeongin time to react, watched his eyes widen a little, before he lifted his head from Jeongin’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss him slowly.

"I love you, too," Jeongin whispered when they parted. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I’ll be fine," Hyunjin said, still close enough that his lips brushed the corner of Jeongin’s. "Wish me luck with Minho."

"If you need luck, I’m here," Jeongin said with an exaggerated wink, and Hyunjin couldn’t help laughing again.

"I’m sure you have better things to do," he said. "And I’m used to dealing with Minho."

"If you’re sure," Jeongin said, a hint of worry creeping back into his expression. "I was going to visit Woojin and Changbin."

"Go on, then," Hyunjin said, patting his hand gently. "I’ll see you later."

Jeongin nodded, throwing him a final smile before he disappeared out the door, leaving Hyunjin alone with the watch and the bones.

He sighed, and pulled out his deck of tarot cards. He wasn’t sure how much they’d help. They tended to be vague, or dramatic, occasionally even inaccurate depending on the reader; but with Minho, Hyunjin decided, he needed all the powers of prediction he could grasp.

* * *

The hospital was quiet when Minho arrived. It surprised him; he would have thought it would be busy, beds full up with rioters and police, wards kept separate. But he remembered the injuries he had seen. The volume of blood spilled upon the streets. A great many of those people would not have made it to the hospital. And those that had… the riots had been three days ago now. Plenty of time to die.

As he approached Felix's room, he swore he heard two voices. One brighter, laughing a little, and the other… deeper. Felix? Minho sped up, heading for the door, and flung it open.

Felix was sitting up in bed. He looked pale, still a little dizzy, but his hands were wrapped tight around Jisung's wrists as he laughed.

"Felix," Minho managed to say. Jisung looked up, something bitter creeping into his expression. He was still angry. That made sense.

"Hi, Minho," Felix said. Jisung said nothing.

"How are you feeling?"

Felix pulled a face. "Kind of like I've been stabbed,' he said, smiling slightly.

"You know, that kind of makes sense," Minho replied, smiling back.

"How goes everything with Chan? I mean, you've probably kept Jisung updated, but he hasn't really told me much."

"It's going well," Minho told him. "We're building up a good deal of evidence." He snorted. "I got Chan drunk while Seungmin and Changbin stole his parents' bones."

"You did  _ what? _ " Jisung asked. Minho felt himself relax a little. Jisung had spoken to him. Maybe he hadn't ruined things utterly.

He turned to grin at him. "We needed bones to get a signature from. So we can check if Chan is actually related to Mr and Mrs Bang. I distracted Chan while Changbin and Woojin took Seungmin to the crypt."

"And you decided alcohol was the way to go?" Jisung asked incredulously.

"It didn't start off that way. He was the one who suggested wine. I just didn't stop him drinking it."

Jisung snorted, shaking his head, and Minho smiled at him. Things would be ok between them, he thought. Even if Jisung never completely forgave him for his part in Felix being in this hospital bed.

"He doesn’t suspect anything, then?" Felix asked curiously.

"I don’t think so," Minho said.

"Must not be so clever as we thought," Jisung mused. Minho shook his head.

"He's not stupid,” he said. “Not even gullible, I don't think. Sometimes... sometimes he looks at me and I think he knows that I'm lying."

"Then why the hell do you think he keeps letting you in?" Jisung asked.

Minho sighed. Thought for a moment. "I think he doesn't care. When I read his mind, it's so... open. I struggle to find anything specific because he just lets me see everything. I think he'd do anything just for... something. Any kind of human contact. He's been trapped in there, alone, for so long. I think he just likes having someone there."

"Sounds like you’re getting fairly empathetic," Felix said lightly. Minho laughed.

"Know your enemy, Felix. It’s the way into anything." He winked. Felix just stared at him thoughtfully.

"So, what's next?" Jisung asked.

Minho shrugged. "I keep going back. Look for more evidence. But if the signatures turn out right, that’s something pretty strong."

"This is coming to an end then,” Jisung said softly.

"It is," Minho agreed. A silence settled between the three of them, heavy with thought. Minho was the one to break it.

"So," he began, "what actually happened to you?" It was the wrong question. Jisung’s expression turned dark.

"I picked up a triskele off the street," Felix said slowly. "Someone thought it was mine. He started going on about how all sorcerers should be locked away, that I thought I was better than him… he wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him I wasn’t a sorcerer."

"He nearly died," Jisung said bluntly. "Because he picked up one of your badges."

"Jisung," Felix murmured.

"No, Felix. Don’t." He turned to Minho. "It’s your fault. At least partially."

"I understand," Minho said softly. "I’m sorry."

Jisung snorted. "The least you can do is be honest," he said. "You’re not sorry."

"I am, Jisung, I-" he stopped. "I didn’t want this to happen."

"This is  _ exactly _ what you wanted to happen, Minho. It’s just inconvenient to you that it’s happened to someone who’s name you remembered for more than a minute."

"Jisung, stop it," Felix said firmly. He glanced at Minho. Didn’t seem to know what to say.

Minho stood. "I’ll see you when I have more news," he said quietly. He didn’t wait for a reply. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Jisung had to say anyway.

* * *

Minho wandered the city for a good while before he came home. He needed the peace, he found, after that conversation with Jisung. He considered heading up the hill, sitting down beside the gate to Chan’s grounds as he had before. But then he thought of Chan’s eyes in the firelight, and the warmth that rose in his chest was strong enough to make him dizzy. He turned away from the hill.

The house seemed quiet when he returned, and he allowed himself a moment to think. Felix had nearly died. He was stable, healing, but he had nearly died.

"Rough night?" Minho opened his eyes to see Hyunjin standing at the foot of the stairs, Chan's pocket watch in his hand.

"You could say that," Minho replied with a sigh. 

"How's Felix?" Hyunjin asked.

Minho shrugged. "He's alive. Jisung looks in worse shape, to be honest. He's not sleeping."

"I don’t think anyone would after nearly losing someone they love that much," Hyunjin said softly. "Do you know how it happened?"

Minho gritted his teeth. He still didn’t know exactly how guilty to feel about this. "He picked up a triskele and some fucking idiot assumed he was a sorcerer and stabbed him." Hyunjin didn't reply, and Minho looked up to see him staring, eyes steady and thoughtful. "What?" he snapped.

"I just think you have a choice."

"A choice?"

"On where to go from here."

Minho rubbed his eyes, sitting down against the door and resting his head between his knees. "Don't be fucking cryptic, Hyunjin, I don't have the energy."

"I looked at the signatures,” Hyunjin clarified, holding up the watch. “Chan is definitely not related to those bones in the crypt."

Minho's head shot back up. "Really?"

"Really. But does that matter?"

"Of course it fucking matters, Hyunjin, why wouldn't it-"

"Because these riots will get worse if you crack this case. Because Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix have already been injured, and it will get worse." Hyunjin paused. "Because I can see in your aura that you've been wavering. That you feel guilty when we talk about Chan, that you  _ care about him. _ " He raised his voice as Minho tried to protest, shutting his voice out. "You care, Minho. And if you keep doing this, you will tear him apart."

"So what? People get torn apart, Hyunjin. That's not my problem."

Hyunjin laughed, too loud and too exasperated. "No, because you run away from everything and everyone. Honestly, I'm surprised you even went to visit Felix in hospital again, because he is  _ exactly  _ the kind of thing you run away from."

Minho scrambled to his feet, crossing the room in barely five strides until he and Hyunjin were almost nose to nose. "You take that  _ back,"  _ he hissed.

"No," Hyunjin said. "I won't. Because it's true. You ran away from Seungmin and I once you realised we were too damaged for you to fix, you've run away from every city where you've painted triskeles on walls and whispered in people's ears. You don't  _ do  _ consequences. And you'll run away from Chan once this is done, no matter how much he means to you."

"He means nothing."

"Don't  _ lie _ ." Minho said nothing, and Hyunjin shook his head. "You can't even say it twice, can you? You can't even look me in the eyes and say you don't care about him. So, Minho, for once in your life, run away from the  _ right  _ thing. Run away from chaos, and riots, and whatever itch you have to burn the world, and  _ stay _ ."

Minho hesitated. He didn't love Chan. He didn't. Didn't lie awake thinking of his smile, didn't bury his face in his jacket and breathe in the scent of him, didn't want to stay with him in that house until the sun set and rose and set again. He didn't.

"I can't," he said softly. He hated the way the words sounded, broken china on his tongue. "I can't run from that. It's everything."

"It's who you are," Hyunjin translated quietly. "But it isn't who you have to be."

Minho pressed his forehead against Hyunjin's shoulder, their proximity turning from a threat to an embrace as it had when they had discussed Jeongin. How was that barely weeks ago? How had so much passed since then?

"It is," he said. "I'm sorry, but it is."

He felt Hyunjin sigh. "Then I've taken records of the magical signatures and the lack of correlation between them. I'll leave it on the table."

"Thank you."

"Don't. Don't thank me for helping you self destruct, Minho."

"That wasn't what I was thanking you for," Minho whispered, and judging by the way Hyunjin's arms tightened around him, he understood.


	14. chapter fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Minho makes (probably) the worst decision of his entire life.
> 
> I'm sorry. It doesn't start getting better yet.
> 
> Also a warning for slightly dubious consent in this chapter? He does consent it's just... emotional, and perhaps not fully informed. I wasn't sure whether it was worth tagging.

Jisung wouldn’t let Felix walk up the stairs to their flat by himself, insisting on half-carrying him despite his protests. Three days after Minho’s visit, the nurses had announced that he was ready to go home, and Jisung had almost cried with relief.

"Don’t let him tear his stitches," the nurse had warned Jisung. "We don’t want him back."

"Was he that bad of a patient?"

The nurse rolled his eyes. "He’s not  _ bad _ . He just won’t sit still."

"That sounds like Felix," Jisung had agreed. He had been relieved to hear that Felix was trying to get up and move around. The memory of him lying so still in that bed… hurt.

But now Felix was home, back in the space where he belonged, filling every space Jisung had noticed since he was gone.  _ How did I ever live without him _ , he had wondered to himself. He hadn’t been able to find an answer.

"I’ll sleep on the sofa so you have plenty of space," he told Felix, watching him anxiously as he navigated around the desk. What if he fell? What if he tripped on some papers and his stitches tore? Jisung had done his best to tidy, but there was still so much that wasn’t safe.

Felix frowned. "No," he said. "I want you with me. Sleep in our bed."

"… I’ll sleep on the floor in our room. That way I’m close by. Is that ok?"

"Jisung, that’s  _ worse _ ," Felix complained. "Just sleep with me."

Jisung tried not to meet his eyes. They were wide with confusion, searching Jisung’s expression. "You need to heal, Felix. You’re not going to do that if I’m sleeping so close. I might move in the night and tear your stitches."

Felix snorted. "Sure, you’ve kicked me once or twice, but you’re not  _ that  _ bad." His face softened when Jisung didn’t respond. "Is this why you won’t kiss me?" he asked softly. "You haven’t kissed me since I woke up, Jisung. And it’s not for lack of me trying."

"You need to be  _ careful _ ," Jisung managed to say. "I need you to heal, Felix, I can’t do anything that’ll stop you healing, I can’t see you like that again, I can’t-"

"Oh," Felix said softly, eyes wide and slightly panicked. "Oh, Jisung, ok. I’m not going anywhere, Jisung, I’m not. You can sleep on the sofa, ok? Just make sure you come in and say goodnight to me?"

Jisung nodded, ignoring the tentative way Felix reached out his arms. He wanted to hold him. More than anything, he wanted to hold Felix close, wrap him up and keep him safe, but the image of that much blood soaking his shirt again, skin pale as wax… Felix had to heal. Jisung wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.

Felix slept alone that night, Jisung curled on the sofa. He had done as Felix asked, come in to say goodnight, to say that he loved him. It felt odd to leave. It felt odd even to be in a different room to Felix. He’d spent so long asleep in that chair by his bed, waking up at odd intervals with his heart beating fast, checking the rise and fall of his lover’s chest.

At around two in the morning, Jisung moved to their bedroom. Sat on the floor beside Felix. Watched him breathe.

He fell asleep that way, leaned against the wall, listening to the whisper of Felix’s breath like a lullaby.

* * *

Minho didn’t tell anyone he was going to visit Chan. He wasn’t even sure why he was going. Part of it, he knew, was bitterness, a desperate need to prove Hyunjin wrong. A few days had passed since their discussion, and Hyunjin kept shooting him sad little glances, whispers of pity in his thoughts. Minho hated it. He needed to show him that he didn’t care about Chan. He didn’t. He just wanted more evidence, something to solidify their investigation. He knew it had to be there.

Part of him just wanted to see that smile again.

And here Minho was, sitting across from Chan by the fire, an old, old book lying between them.

"This," Chan said slowly, unfolding the pages, "is my entire family tree." Minho watched as he traced the lines on the pages, listing names and anecdotes along them. His fingertips were so gentle on the paper, almost loving, and Minho's chest ached. Did he know? Did he even suspect that this blood didn't run through his veins? A quick scan of his mind told Minho no. He had no idea that his name didn't belong on this tree, an isolated sapling, too overshadowed by the vast oak to really grow.

"How far back does it go?" Minho asked, aware that his silence had stretched a little too long. Chan's gentle smile faltered a little as he turned the pages back gently, pointing out the dates beside the names.

"Centuries," he said quietly, his head filled with a quiet despair, the kind that presses against the inside of your skull and shuts out light. "Centuries of sorcerers, keeping this place intact. Keeping the magic here. All leading down to me."

"You don't like that?" Minho asked, letting his hand brush over Chan's as he reached to touch the page. He had given up trying to ignore the beat of his heart when their skin brushed. It wasn't just him, either. Minho could feel a spike in the colour of Chan's thoughts whenever he initiated little moments like this, a flush of noise that Chan always hurried to quiet.

"Would you?" Chan asked. He sighed. "Everything rests on me. Continuing this rests on me."

"That's a problem?"

Chan hesitated. "I don't want to get married," he said in a small voice. "I don't... I don't want a wife. I don't think I could fall in love with her."

"Why not?" Minho asked gently. He knew the answer, could feel the guilt and shame radiating off Chan in waves. Minho touched his hand again, and felt them heighten alongside that rush of colour, that quick suppression of it. "Chan," he continued, voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "Are you gay?"

Chan pulled his hand back, turning his face away. "Don't," he said. "Don't ask me that."

"Chan... it's ok if you are," Minho said, trying his best to be reassuring. "It's not like you had a choice. You are what you are."

"And what I am means I'm useless," Chan snapped. His face crumpled when Minho pulled back a little, and he gestured to the book between them. "This ends here because of what I am." Minho searched his thoughts, finding nothing but self deprecation and visions of dynasties ending. If only Minho could tell him. It already ended, he would say. It ended the generation before yours. No weight rests on your shoulders.

"Everything has to end eventually," was what he said instead. Chan didn't reply. Gently, Minho folded in the pages of the book, closing it and pushing it to one side, and crossed the space between them. Chan froze a little at the touch of Minho's hand on his cheek, and Minho heard his thoughts racing. For once they were clear as glass, not the rush of emotions and muddled magic he was used to.

_ Kiss me, _ Chan was thinking, desperate and guilty and tearful.  _ Oh god, I want him to kiss me _ .

And Minho did. He felt Chan panic a little at first, obviously not expecting Minho to know what he wanted, a little overwhelmed by the surge of shame and joy he felt when their lips met. But he followed Minho when he pulled away, kissing him back tentatively and then less so. His thoughts shifted, focused down to points of contact, and Minho felt a thrill run through him. He loved this. Loved being wanted, loved knowing exactly what was going through his partner's head, what made their thoughts quicken or shut down completely. He could spend hours like this, he thought, just exploring ways to kiss Chan, finding out what made his thoughts narrow down to a single blinding point like that.

But Chan pulled back a little, biting his lower lip nervously. "You could stay," he said, almost mumbling. As though he were ashamed to ask. "Tonight. You could stay."

And Minho thought about so much more than kissing him.

He tried to slow himself down, flicking through the blur of Chan's thoughts like the pages of a book to see if he meant it, if he really wanted this. He seemed so afraid to ask, after all. But it was there, desire and hope and a hollow, desperate need to be distracted from the book by the fire, to be reminded that something good could come of what he was.

Minho could do that. Distraction. "Yes," he whispered, brushing his lips along Chan's jaw. "Yes, I'll stay the night." He let Chan lead him to his room, pausing to kiss him against the wall when he felt the eyes of the portraits too heavily at his back.  _ You think you control him?  _ He tried to say with each kiss.  _ You think you get a say in his happiness? _

There were no portraits in Chan's room. No one to defy. But there was Chan, and his skin under Minho's hands, and the silk of his sheets beneath them. That, Minho thought, was more than enough.

* * *

Minho didn't want to leave. He was lying in Chan's bed as the sun began to filter in and light up Chan's skin, casting a glow over the pale expanse of his chest. He looked peaceful. Beautiful. And Minho found he wanted nothing more than to stay, wait for him to wake, kiss him slowly. To touch him again. Take his time here.

There was more to it than that, Minho admitted to himself. The idea of leaving made him feel  _ guilty _ . Chan had placed all his trust in Minho, shared his deepest secret, offered him a form of intimacy he'd probably shared with no one else; and Minho was just going to leave him.

But he had a job to do. And now, while Chan slept, was the perfect opportunity.

So, Minho slid carefully out of bed, searching the room for his clothes in the dim light of dawn. Chan didn't even stir when the door creaked as he made to leave, and Minho almost felt... sad. If Chan had woken, he could simply have smiled and said 'I'm going to get us some breakfast. I'll be back soon.' And Chan would smile back, soft and still half asleep, only waking fully once Minho returned, armed with a tray of coffee and toast.

Minho shook himself. Thoughts like that were no use. A job. He had a job to do.

He headed to the library. Chan had shown him a whole shelf of family records, informal ones written or filed by anyone who cared. He scanned through them to find the right dates, searching for anything related to Chan's birth.  _ An uneventful pregnancy and a healthy baby boy.  _ Lies. Just lies. Minho slammed the heel of his hand against his temple until he could think. Where would he find the truth? Not in something like this, where any snoop could read it. Somewhere else. Somewhere personal.

He remembered a room, locked up tight.

"It's tradition," Chan had told him. "No one's room is opened until twenty years after their death. It lets their spirits settle."

And so Minho pulled a lockpick from a seam of his jacket and headed silently to Chan's parent's bedroom. Luckily for him, it was on the other staircase; something strange in him balked at the idea of walking past Chan again without at least kissing him goodbye.

The door wasn't difficult to open. The padlock was mostly for show, it seemed, because it opened with barely any effort on Minho's part.

Everything inside was coated with a thick layer of dust. It settled over the bed, the light fittings, the vanity in the corner. Minho was oddly grateful for that. Reflections could betray you, if you weren't careful.

A quick scan of the room revealed a pile of leather bound books on one of the tables flanking the ornate four poster bed. Each book was uniform in shape and size and colour, one lying slightly apart from the others. Minho picked one up, letting the dust slide from the faded blue leather. The pages were covered in a tight scrawl, dates marked occasionally. A diary. These were Chan's father's diaries.

Minho felt a thrill run through him, a familiar spark of knowing that he'd found exactly what he needed. It made his fingers lighter, and he flipped through the pages of each diary with ease, searching for the dates he wanted. He found them quickly, slipping that book and the one either side of it into his pockets. If the evidence he needed was anywhere, it would be here.

He fixed the lock as he left. It took unnecessary time, but he found he couldn't leave evidence that he'd been sneaking around. In theory, it didn't matter now. He had what he wanted. But Chan would hate him enough when he awoke alone, no sign of Minho anywhere. He couldn't let Chan know that he was a thief as well as a liar and... whatever leaving before Chan awoke made him.

The morning was cool, a thin mist settling over the grounds. Minho was grateful for it; mist always made for an easier getaway. Not that Chan's bedroom even faced the drive. Minho had gotten the barest glimpse out of his window as he kissed Chan's neck, working his way down the buttons of his shirt. Nothing but woodland, the lake glimmering in the distance.

Had Chan's window been open? Would the mist be seeping in, settling on his skin like dew? Would he be cold?

_ Stop it,  _ Minho told himself firmly.  _ It doesn't matter. You'll never see him again. _

He would never see Chan again. He tightened his grip on the diaries in his pocket. They were all that mattered now. He was sure of it.

But that didn't stop the final surge of guilt twisting in his stomach as he closed the vast gates behind him.

* * *

Chan woke slowly, the sun catching on his eyelashes and pulling him from sleep. He rolled over to the shadowed side of the bed to avoid it, spreading out to make himself more comfortable in the hopes that sleep would return. Something caught in his mind then, something wrong, something odd. He shouldn’t have that much space. Minho, he realised. Minho wasn’t there.

He sat up, sheets settling around his waist. Minho wasn’t there. The only clothes scattered about the floor were his own.

"Minho?" he called. No response. Perhaps he had gone to make breakfast, or curl up in the library. He didn’t seem like the type to sleep late, after all.

Chan dressed quickly, pausing only to run a hand briefly over the marks on his torso from Minho’s mouth, the same reddish-violet as cherries. He hadn’t expected those. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d asked Minho to stay. But Minho had known what he was doing, had been careful to ask if everything he did was right. Chan smiled to himself. He didn’t regret asking him to stay. Perhaps now he could admit to himself that what he felt for Minho was more than just a relief from loneliness.

"Minho? Are you there?" Chan kept calling out as he traversed the house, down to the kitchens and across to the library. Nothing. Silence. "Minho?" The gardens, he thought desperately. Maybe Minho had gone in search of the pavilion. He closed his eyes, reached out into the magic of the grounds and house, searching. Nothing. He tried again. He was the only one here. In these vast grounds, he was alone.

Minho was gone.

Chan found he couldn’t quite breathe. Why would Minho go? Why would he disappear like that? Maybe he had left a note. Like he had last time, when Chan was drunk, a note to make him smile and shake his head at his own behaviour. He ran back up the stairs to his bedroom, checked the bedside tables, the front of the wardrobe, the windowsill. The breakfast table, the hearth, the end table in the library. The front door. Nothing. No note to be found. Minho had just vanished.

He stood in the hallway, trying to think. Minho had left. Minho had been a friend to him, kissed him slowly, gone to bed with him, and then  _ left _ . Chan couldn’t make sense of it.

Unless that was all Minho had wanted all along. The thought made him feel sick. He knew there were people like that around, of course; but Minho couldn’t be one of them. He couldn’t. Chan’s skin started to crawl at the thought of it. That it hadn’t  _ mattered  _ to Minho. That it had just been something passing, something to enjoy and forget.

A bath, Chan decided. He needed a bath.

He sat and thought as the water ran, spiralling through scenarios of Minho biding his time, waiting for Chan to let him touch, taste, laughing with faceless strangers that the naive sorcerer up in the manor had given in so easily. He tried to shut them out, but Minho’s sharp smile stayed with him, bright as a razor blade.

The water, when he submerged himself in it, didn’t feel like it was enough to wash him clean. He used magic to heat it until he hissed in pain, skin turning red as he tried to forget Minho’s hands on his neck, his waist, between his thighs. God, he’d been stupid. So,  _ so  _ stupid.

Perhaps he’d feel better, he thought, if he hadn’t realised he was in love. But he had felt it, that warmth in his chest at Minho’s every word, a sweet, delicate blur of joy in his chest when Minho had kissed him. That wasn’t something he could forget.

He lay in the bath until the water went cold, too numb to cry.

* * *

Felix had spent the last hour flicking through the books Minho had stolen from Chan's house, Jisung alternating between peering over his shoulder and pressing Minho for every detail of his and Chan's conversation about his family. He was getting frustrated; he had already been angry enough at Minho, and this reluctance to talk about Chan was new.  _ Some things aren't for you, Jisung,  _ Minho thought.  _ Some truths -  _ the shame in Chan's thoughts, the sensation of his lips against Minho's, the way he had taken his hand and led him up the stairs -  _ need to stay in shadow. _

"What do you mean you can’t go back there? Did he find out what you were doing?"

"No," Minho said quietly.

"Then for fuck’s sake, Minho,  _ why _ ? You can’t just jeopardise an entire-"

"Shit," Felix said out of the blue, and Jisung's attention snapped back to him. Jisung's attention was never far from Felix these days.

"What?" Jisung asked, tone sharp and a little fearful. "Felix, what is it?"

Felix sat back heavily in his chair, wincing a little as he did so, and held out the book. "It's a fucking confession, is what it is."

"Give me that," Jisung said, snatching the book and scanning the page Felix had been reading. "Fuck. You're right. Minho, look at this."

He didn't pass him the book, so Minho took up the implied offer and skimmed through Jisung's head, dodging thoughts of riots and Felix's wound to find the passage he was reading.

_ The child seems to recognise that my wife is not his mother,  _ Chan's father had written.  _ He cries when she holds him, reaching out blindly for some other arms in which he can find safety. It breaks her heart, I think. But the boy's mother was found hanged from the apple tree by her own hand, and even if she lived he could not be returned to her. The legacy of this family must be continued, and that a child so close by had the power to do so must be considered a gift. He will grow to love his new mother, in time, and all shall be as it should be. _

"That was the story you heard from the groundskeeper, wasn't it?" Felix asked Minho. "That his father had found a maid hanged from the apple tree after her baby had supposedly died."

Minho nodded mutely. This was all they needed. This was the last piece of the machine that would take the hierarchy of sorcery apart. That would take Chan's family apart. For a moment, he wanted to pull the book from Jisung's hands and throw it into the fire. Run back up to the house and tell Chan he was sorry for leaving, that it had been a mistake, that he wanted to stay up there on the hill for as long as Chan wanted him.

But he remembered the way any sorcerer not born into a high family was pushed into the dirt regardless of talent; Seungmin, suppressing his magic until it made him ill; the way they had carried Hyunjin home after the police had beaten him half to death.

He remembered Chan's fear, the constant pressure that had beaten him into a shape that didn't fit anywhere.

The urge faded. This was knowledge that had to be shared.

"How soon can you get this printed?" he asked. "It needs to be as soon as possible."

"We'll write a few drafts," Jisung replied. "We want to word this right. But it'll be a few days, at most."

"Good." Minho slid off the table, grabbing his coat as he headed for the door. He turned to grin at them both. "Don't bother sending me a copy. I'll steal one from a newspaper stand."

"Wouldn't expect any less," Felix called, already pulling a hesitant Jisung closer by the knot of his tie. Minho left them to it.

* * *

Minho didn’t sleep at all that night. He tossed and turned, thoughts running too fast, flicking from Chan to Jisung and the diary and that huge house and  _ Chan _ . He couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop the anger when he remembered Jisung pushing him for information.

_ This isn’t for you to know _ , Minho had wanted to tell him.  _ I don’t owe you this secret.  _ But Jisung had kept pushing, and Minho had felt as though he were being pulled open, resorting to sullen silence to prevent the truth spilling out. As if Jisung and Felix could read on his face that his mind kept going back to Chan. As if every instance Chan had gasped out his name was branded onto his skin like the marks he had left across Chan’s ribs.

Minho tried to slow his breathing. That wasn’t what he should be thinking about. He shouldn’t be remembering the taste of Chan’s skin, the way Chan’s fingers had fumbled with his tie as Minho kissed him and kissed him, barely letting him find his breath. The memory of it was twisted with guilt, with the sight of him sleeping peacefully at dawn, with the mist crawling in and Minho feeling like he’d torn a hole in his own chest somehow. And something else. Something softer, golden and gentle as candlelight, that Minho couldn’t bring himself to think about in daylight.

He closed his eyes tight. Maybe it was better to think about Chan’s bed, to think of the heat and the feeling of bare skin beneath his hands, than to think of that. But it persisted, a softness, an ache, a rush of something almost painful in his chest when he thought of Chan’s smile, the way he had hesitantly leaned up for a gentle kiss once the quiet had started to settle back into his bedroom. Minho had obliged, pressing his lips softly to Chan’s once, twice, hearing Chan sigh gently in between, and he had thought, if only for a moment, that he would be happy there forever.

But Minho couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t. Not with what he’d done. It was better to imagine Chan waking alone, imagine him hating Minho. Because he would. If not now, then when the article was published. He had asked not to be mentioned by name, but Chan was clever, and it wasn’t like many people had been given access to his house lately.

Chan would despise him. The thought brought tears to Minho’s eyes. He tried to push them back, tried to convince himself he was the same as he’d always been. The same fire, the same drive, the same inability to settle, to let his guard down. It felt like a lie. So Minho curled up in bed and cried, trying desperately to understand just what it was that had finally broken inside him. Only one person could answer that question, he thought wretchedly.

And Minho would never see him again.


	15. chapter fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, he breaks.
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far; next update Wednesday.

The article, Jisung and Felix found, was more troublesome than expected. It was sensitive, in a political and a local sense, and Jisung seemed to be finding it difficult to strike a balance between invoking outrage and being accurate. It didn’t help, Felix thought, that he ground his teeth together every time he had to mention Minho in any capacity.

Felix winced as he shifted on the sofa, and Jisung’s attention snapped across to him. Felix shot him a smile. Jisung smiled shakily back. It was understandable that he was angry at Minho, Felix thought. He had nearly died because of something Minho had helped to start. But he wasn’t solely responsible. The riots had existed long before Minho was involved. And the actions of men like his attacker, men half-blind with hatred trapped inside for too long, were never predictable. His injury hadn’t been Minho’s fault. But Jisung had almost been grieving, and he had needed someone to blame. Not that it was getting him anywhere.

"You need to realise that this isn’t Minho’s fault," Felix said softly. The clatter of Jisung’s typewriter keys fell away into silence.

"What?"

"You’re not going to get this article right until you stop being angry at Minho. You need to try to understand that me getting hurt wasn’t his fault."

Jisung looked at him. "How is it not his fault?" he asked slowly.

"The triskele movement existed without him."

"But maybe they wouldn’t have existed  _ here _ , Felix. Maybe if he’d stayed out of it, this city would be safe."

"You know that’s not true, Jisung, you-"

"I don’t!" Jisung shouted, and Felix fell silent. "I don’t know that’s not true. I know that he’s here and you got hurt, and I admit that I’ll never know what would have happened if he hadn’t come here, but you were bleeding out, Felix." His voice dropped, choked with tears. "You were dying on the street and maybe I don’t know that that’s his fault but I know the scenario in which I almost lost you is one in which Minho is here." Silence followed his words. Jisung looked away. "I’m sorry," he said, voice cracking. "I didn’t want to shout at you. You didn’t ask for this. Minho did. He’s spent his whole life pushing for this and you got caught in the crossfire."

"I know Minho helps push for the riots," Felix said carefully, walking over to the desk and standing beside Jisung. "I know he enjoys causing chaos. But this is older than him. The hatred people have for sorcerers is older than him. The hierarchy. All of it. It isn’t his fault, Jisung." He took Jisung’s hand in his own. "And it isn’t yours."

Jisung started crying in earnest then, standing to hold Felix close, gentle and careful as he always was these days. Felix wished Jisung would hold him properly, pull him against his chest and press the breath from his chest until he laughed.

"Hey," Felix murmured, stroking his hair. "Hey, it’s ok. I’m ok. I’m here." Jisung just kept sobbing against his shoulder. "Jisung, I’m ok. I love you."

"I should have been there," Jisung choked out. "I should have been there with you and then you might have been fine, I could have stopped him, I could have protected you-"

"And then you would have been hurt, and I would have blamed myself, and maybe Minho, and we’d be exactly where we are now," Felix said gently. "It’s ok to be upset, Jisung. But even if he hadn’t hurt me, he would have hurt someone. There was no way this ended well."

"When did you get so clever," Jisung mumbled against his shoulder. "You can’t be pretty and clever. That’s not fair." It sounded almost like he was smiling, and Felix felt his heart lift.

"Then I’ll stop being clever and bother you to finish this article. You need to get it done."

"Fine," Jisung muttered. He pulled away, eyes red, sniffling slightly. Felix gently kissed away a few stray tears. "Let’s get this article out there, huh?"

Felix grinned. "It’s what we’ve been working for. Let’s do it."

* * *

They finished the article an hour before the print deadline for the next morning’s paper. It had taken them twelve redrafts, hours of Jisung reading the thing out loud and Felix critiquing from the sofa. But it was done. Jisung sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"I have to run this over to the printers," he said with a sigh. Felix shot him a worried look.

" Can’t it wait until morning? You know it’s not safe to go out this late."

Jisung hesitated. Thought of Felix, waiting for him while he ran through the dark. Thought of how he’d felt to see him bleeding on the cobbles. "It can wait," he agreed. "They don’t run an afternoon edition tomorrow, but if we get it in first thing in the morning we’ll have plenty of time to argue our case for it being published." He glanced at the neat stack of paper beside his typewriter. Felix followed his gaze.

"This is going to change everything, isn’t it?" he said softly.

"I think it is," Jisung agreed. He left his desk, heading over to the sofa and crouching in front of Felix. "I was thinking… maybe we should move. After this. Not far, just to the outskirts of the city. Where it’s safer."

"Maybe we should," Felix murmured. "It’d be a shame to leave here though."

"You’re just saying that because we had our first kiss on this sofa," Jisung teased, and Felix laughed.

"Maybe we should take the sofa with us," he joked. Jisung couldn’t help smiling at the sight of his eyes lighting up with laughter.

"I love you," he said, a warmth he never knew how to express bleeding into his tone. "Thank you for being with me through all of this."

"I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else," Felix told him, and as Jisung leaned up to kiss him softly, they both forgot, for a moment, the start of a thunderstorm sitting neatly on their desk.

* * *

Minho, as promised, stole a copy of the paper. He read the article on his way home, ducking into alleys to avoid the people gathering in the streets. He couldn’t help a faint flush of pride. It was well written, hard-hitting and concise, all his carefully gathered intel laid out for everyone to understand. It was proof; proof that people like him existed. Had a  _ right  _ to exist. The tension in the city was rising again because of it, more gold triskele badges than ever glinting in the sun, and more than one policeman wearing them.

Hyunjin visibly relaxed when he walked in through the door.

"You feeling it?" Minho asked. Hyunjin nodded, running a hand back through his hair. He looked exhausted.

"It’s like listening to nineteen orchestras tuning up at once," he said, "but it’s not bad right now. Once people start getting angry it’ll get worse."

Minho felt a faint twinge of guilt. He didn’t like that the riots hurt Hyunjin in the way they did. Hyunjin had no way of shutting something like that out, couldn’t silence the emotions of an entire city blaring in his head.

"Want to read the article?" he asked, holding up the paper. "Then at least you’ll know what all the fuss is about." He didn’t even have to throw the paper; Hyunjin simply levitated it from his hands, catching it delicately. Minho sat while he read, listening to the bustle outside and carefully drawing a box around his thoughts about Chan. He couldn’t think about him now. Couldn’t think about him waking up alone like he had every day since Minho, reading his own story told in a way he’d think was horribly wrong. He’d be distraught. So much of who he was had been based around his family. Twenty-one years devoted to their legacy. Would he feel free, Minho wondered? Or like his world had fallen apart?

"Minho?"

"Mm?" He hadn’t realised Hyunjin had been speaking. Hyunjin looked at him steadily, obviously reading his aura. Minho didn’t even try to change it.

"I said," Hyunjin said delicately, "that Jisung and Felix did a good job."

"They did," Minho agreed. Hyunjin smiled, and he wondered if his aura had coloured with relief. "I knew Jisung was the right man for the job. And he obviously chose a good partner in Felix."

Hyunjin laughed. "Of course that’s how you’d see it," he teased. "Do you think maybe they work so well together because they care about each other?"

"And of course that’s how you’d see it," Minho countered gently. The quiet that settled between them was thoughtful. "What do you think would have happened to us if I’d never got involved with all this?" he asked eventually. The question hung like a pendulum, waiting for Hyunjin’s answer to set it swinging.

"I don’t know," Hyunjin said after a few moments had passed. "I think things would be less complicated. I think we’d see you more."

Minho snorted. "I don’t think Seungmin wants to see me any more than he does."

"He does. He misses you. He misses the days where he knew how to talk to you."

Minho didn’t know what to say to that. "I suppose we’ll never know."

"I suppose we won’t," Hyunjin agreed, folding the newspaper and placing it gently on the table. And Minho thought about Seungmin. About Chan. About everything he’d done.

Outside, someone cast the first blow.

* * *

Chan hadn't felt that anything was wrong until the newspaper was delivered. Even after all these years of silence from the house, some poor paperboy was made to climb the hill and push a copy through the gate, and Chan went down every morning to collect it.

He didn't feel like going today. He hadn't felt like doing much over the last few days.

It was pathetic, he knew, to be so affected by Minho's disappearance. Minho had never said, had never even hinted that he loved him. Chan had wanted to forget about the book, the family history that clung to him like a parasite, and Minho had given him that for a while. That acknowledgement hadn't stopped him feeling ugly down to his core when he had realised that Minho was gone, as though there were something beneath his skin he couldn't tear out. He had taken three baths that day to try to dispel the sensation, heating up the water until it almost scalded. He hadn't slept the night after, unable to separate the concept of his sheets with the memory of the sounds Minho had drawn from him.

With a sigh, Chan hauled himself out of the armchair. It was past noon, and he had been there all morning. It was new to him, this kind of apathy, heavy and underpinned by a sense of failing self worth that was all too familiar. The newspaper would help, he decided, as would the walk.

The air was clear and bright, sunlight bathing the lawn and making Chan's eyes ache. He adjusted to it as he headed down the drive, enjoying the feeling of the light on his skin. Maybe, he thought, he would be alright. Bad things happened, after all. He had survived them before.

The newspaper had been pushed between the wrought iron coils of the gate, a little damp from the rain that had rested on the metal since yesterday or the day before. Chan wasn't entirely sure when the last rain had fallen. He pulled it free, tucking it under his arm to take back to the house. He had developed a habit over the years of reading it in the dining room over breakfast, just as his father had. Maybe he would make himself some proper food today. That would probably make him feel better.

Chan settled down at the table half an hour later with a plate of eggs and toast and a crystal glass far too ornate for just water. He frowned as he finally looked at the front page. Was that his house? An old photograph, to be sure, but... that was his house. He pushed his plate aside, unfolding the paper.  _ Historic Bang Family Lies Exposed,  _ the headline read. Chan stared at it, a hollow growing in his chest as he read on. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right.

_ A powerful sorcerer, capable of raising the spirits of the dead, showing no link to the historic bloodline.  _ A lie. It had to be a lie.

_ No match found in the signatures of Bang Chan and the late Mrs Bang.  _ How could that be possible? There were records of his birth, corroborated by the family doctor.

_ The son of a maid, who insisted that her child had been stolen and later committed suicide.  _ No. That didn't make sense. His father wouldn't have.

But there it was. An extract from one of his father's diaries. A confession, the author had stated.

A confession. An acknowledgement that Chan was nothing to this place, a lone sparrow among a flock of nightingales.

His glass cracked minutely. Water beaded on the outside, sliding down to soak the tablecloth.

Chan read the article four more times. The evidence was indisputable. He didn't belong here. This house wasn't his, this history, this burden, this  _ solitude _ had never been meant for him. Everything he knew about himself was wrong. Chan couldn't process that, put it aside in some hollow place to read the article again. It mentioned, on several occasions, an anonymous informant. Someone who knew Chan could speak with the dead, had gained access to the grounds, who had been able to wander the house at will and steal a diary from a bedroom locked tight out of respect to the dead. Minho. It could only have been Minho. Minho, who had shown so much interest in his family history, claiming it was because he had none of his own. Minho, who had asked Chan about the extent of his abilities. Minho, who had listened to Chan lament the weight of his bloodline when he had known all along it was severed.

Chan's glass shattered. A splinter struck the back of his hand, embedding itself there. He watched it for a moment, waiting for blood to bead at the edges of the wound. Nothing happened. Slowly, he removed it. He felt oddly disconnected from the pain, as though it belonged to someone else.

Blood flowed from his hand, blooming red roses on the tablecloth.

And the dining room fell apart.

Chan hadn't intended to do it, hadn't realised that he had been holding everything in the room so tightly as he read. But now that he had let go he could feel it all falling apart, every glass shattering to dust, the table collapsing up into splinters that tore through the tablecloth to embed themselves in the ceiling. He didn't try to stop it. He thought he might be screaming, voice echoing like the howling of the wind as the carpet unravelled into endless skeins of thread that tangled his hands and throat as though they were trying to hold him together. He tore through them, kept feeling the crockery smash itself against the insides of the cabinets and the knives slice through the paintings on the walls. A candelabra melted. A marble bust shattered. The window behind him exploded inwards, a piece of wooden frame striking the back of Chan's head, and the room fell silent as he dropped to the floor.

* * *

The rioting continued on into the afternoon. Politicians frantically hid from journalists asking for clarifications of their opinions on sorcerers. The police force divided, blue against blue, split on the miniscule distinction of who wore a golden badge and who didn’t.

The only person who hadn’t reacted to the article, as far as Minho was aware, was Chan himself.

Woojin and Changbin arrived around noon, both desperately trying to catch their breath from pushing through the crowds, Changbin holding a copy of the paper. "Does he know yet?" he asked Minho.

"I don’t think so. Nothing’s happened up there. Come in."

And then, as the sun was beginning to fall from its arc, Minho heard screaming.

It wasn’t the screams that had filled the streets from the riots, not the death throes of sorcerers and police; this tore the air open, flooded the streets like a river. And surrounding it, the sound of breaking glass, splintering wood, things being torn apart.

"Where the hell is that coming from?" Seungmin shouted over it. Hyunjin had fallen to his knees, crumpling like a broken doll as soon as the sound started, and Seungmin and Jeongin had darted to his side instantly. He lay with his head cradled in Jeongin’s lap, unresponsive.

"The house," Jeongin said. "I think it’s coming from Chan."

"It can’t be," Woojin said, voice soft with horror. "That can’t be Chan."

"Who else is it going to be?" Seungmin snapped. Changbin shot him a glare. "I’m going to check. We need to know." He released Hyunjin’s hand, touched Jeongin’s cheek softly as he got to his feet. "I’ll be back soon."

"Seungmin-" Minho began, but he had already disappeared, door slamming behind him.

The screaming stopped a moment later. The silence it left behind was dizzying.

"That couldn’t have been Chan," Woojin said eventually. Changbin took his hand. Minho said nothing. He knew it had been Chan. He hadn’t even seen half of what Chan was capable of, and Minho  _ knew _ . He’d know his voice anywhere, he thought. But he didn’t want to tell Woojin that.

* * *

The scream burst into Jisung and Felix’s flat like a banshee. Jisung stood, staring at Felix wide-eyed as it rang on and on.

"What the hell," he saw Felix say. He couldn’t hear a word of it, his voice lost in the sound of creaking wood and shattered glass. It stopped around a minute later, leaving the two of them pale and shaking. Jisung waited for Felix to speak.

"Do you think that was-"

"Yeah."

"This is our fault if it is," Felix said quietly. "If this is because of our article, Jisung, that makes whatever that was  _ our fault _ ." His tone rose through the sentence, words clipped and desperate. "We have to go to see if it’s Chan." He got up from the sofa, heading for the door. Jisung took his hand.

"Felix. You can’t go out there. You’re not well." He could hear the note of pleading in his own voice.

"We did this, Jisung!"

"And it already got you hurt once. Please. Please stay." He didn’t know what Felix saw in his eyes that made him step back from the door, but he was grateful for it. "Thank you," he said, gripping Felix’s hand like a vice. "Thank you, Felix, I know it’s our fault but I can’t have you hurt again. I can’t."

"I know," Felix said softly. "I understand. But we hurt him, Jisung. Even if this helps people like Minho and Jeongin, even if this does him good in the long run, we  _ hurt  _ him. We have to face that sometime."

"I know," Jisung agreed. He couldn’t seem to let go of Felix’s hand. "But not right now. Not when I almost lost you already."

Felix’s expression softened a little, and he stepped forwards into Jisung’s arms. "You’re not losing me. Ever."

"Please," Jisung said quietly, resting his forehead against Felix’s. "Please let that be true."

"It is. I promise."

Jisung sighed. "Do you think one of the others will go to Chan?"

"I think so. I hope so."

"I hope so, too. From what Minho’s told us, he seems like a good man."

"He does."

And Jisung held Felix tight and wondered, if Chan was a good man, what that made them if they were the ones who broke him.

* * *

"It’s gone quiet," was the first thing Seungmin said when he came back. Jeongin and Hyunjin both reached for his hand immediately, pulling him closer to ensure that he wasn’t injured. Hyunjin had woken almost as soon as the screams stopped, looking pale and shaken but colour returning to his face quickly. "It’s gone totally silent up there now."

Changbin and Woojin shared a worried glance. Jeongin bit his lip. Minho, lounging in the armchair with his usual elegance, went stiff as a puppet.

"Someone needs to go and check if Chan’s ok," Jeongin suggested shakily. "We don’t know what he might have done when he found out."

"Send the flower boys," Minho muttered, gesturing to Woojin and Changbin where they stood, hands clasped. Changbin’s face darkened at his tone, and he shifted in front of Woojin as he tended to. It was almost comical, Minho thought, given how much smaller he was than his partner.

"Actually," Hyunjin said calmly, still curled in Jeongin’s arms, "I think you should go, Minho." The room fell silent. All heads turned to Minho.

"What?" he asked delicately, trying to maintain his usual carefully unaffected tone. "Why me?"

"You know him best," Hyunjin explained. He sounded utterly reasonable, as though he were speaking simple logic, but the intensity with which his stare pinned Minho down said otherwise.

"I don’t think that’s a good idea," Minho said slowly.

"Why?"

"He- he hates me, Hyunjin."

Seungmin frowned, hand pausing where it had been running up and down over Jeongin’s knee. "Because of the article? You think he knows it’s you?"

Minho flushed. He could feel too many eyes on him, too many questions building in the air. "He’s clever," he managed to say. "Of course he knows."

"No," Changbin said slowly. "There’s more here. There are things you aren’t telling us. Why else would Chan hate you, Minho?"

"Shut up, Changbin," he said, sharper than he meant, and saw Woojin’s jaw clench.

"What did you do?" Woojin asked, voice carrying in the silence of the room, and his tone was of such  _ disappointment _ that it made Minho want to vomit. He turned away. Silence. And then…

"Minho?" A gentle prompt from Hyunjin. Just his name, but enough to make him burst, enough to make him want to shock them all, shut them up and make them look at him with something other than curiosity and distrust.

"Fine," he said, savage and too loud. Jeongin flinched. "I fucked him. And then I left before he woke up so I could get that stupid  _ fucking _ diary for this damned article that’s made him have a fucking breakdown. That’s why he’ll hate me. Because I’m an asshole who made him think I cared and then screwed him while he was vulnerable and left without a word. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The silence that followed was the most painful Minho had ever endured. He met his friends’ eyes one by one, taking in what he saw. Shock from Jeongin. Some mix between disappointment and disgust from Seungmin. Woojin and Changbin both looked like they wanted to take him to pieces. And Hyunjin. Hyunjin looked so  _ fucking  _ calm.

"What?" he snapped at Hyunjin. "You wanted something worse?"

"You don’t speak to him like that," Seungmin said slowly, and had Minho not been cresting a wave of adrenaline and hysteria and self-hate he might have heeded the warning in his tone.

"Why not? Isn’t the point of this conversation just to prove that I’m a piece of shit? I’m just trying to help your boyfriend prove his point, Seungmin. Actually, I would have thought you’d be the first to help him out. Aren’t you always warning everyone away from me, after all? Shame you couldn’t get to Chan, you could have told him all the good old stories of me abandoning you before I ended up pinning him-"

He didn’t see Seungmin move. Just felt the contact of a fist against his cheek, the crack of his head against the back of the armchair. Heard Jeongin gasp.

"You," Seungmin said, words sounding like they came from between gritted teeth, "do not speak to him like that."

"Seungmin," Hyunjin said quietly, and Minho listened to his retreating footsteps as he felt the numbness in his face start to blur into pain.

"He deserved it," he heard Changbin mutter. He didn’t open his eyes, just waited for another blow, be it physical or verbal.

"I think you should all go," Hyunjin said. "Upstairs, at least. I need to talk to Minho alone."

"Oh, joy," Minho murmured, wincing as he let his head fall back against the headrest. He heard more sets of footsteps retreat slowly, up the creaking stairs in a trail. Only once the noise had stopped did he open his eyes, seeing Hyunjin sitting across from him. "What do you want, Hyunjin?" he said tiredly. "I told the truth. What else do you want?"

"Did he hurt you?"

"He punched me in the face, Hyunjin. Yes, he hurt me. Now tell me what you want."

Hyunjin sighed. "The  _ rest  _ of the truth," he said. He was shuffling a deck of cards, the elaborate designs on the back denoting them as the tarot. He laid them out in three piles, and Minho pointed to one without thinking. Hyunjin laid out three cards. Judgement. The Moon. The Lovers.

"You don’t trust yourself these days," Hyunjin said quietly. "You’ve spent too long pretending. You don’t know who you are. But he makes things clearer for you, and you show him light in places he didn’t know there was darkness. Even if neither of you will acknowledge it."

Minho offered him a faint, tired smile. The atmosphere had changed now that it was just the two of them. It was softer. The air felt clearer, less burdened with tension and shame. "You’ve gotten better at this," was all he said. It was the closest he could bring himself to saying that Hyunjin was right.

Hyunjin shook his head. "You’ve got to do better than that,” he said. “You know why I want you to go up there."

"Do we have to-"

"Yes.  _ Yes _ , we have to talk about this now, Minho, because you’ve pushed me away every time I’ve tried to help you and now you are completely out of time. If you don’t do this now, you never will." He hesitated, his words more fragile when he next spoke. "And I think that’ll kill you, Minho. If you never get past this."

"Better start getting ready to lie on my eulogy, then," Minho joked. Hyunjin closed his eyes briefly.

"Don’t," he said, word breaking like sugar on his tongue. "Don’t, Minho. I know you don’t always agree with Seungmin and I, and we’ve had our bad moments over the years, but-" he exhaled shakily. "You don’t know what it would do to us. If we lost you."

Minho had nothing to say to that.

"You know what this is about, don’t you?" Hyunjin asked when the silence had dragged on too long. "The truth."

"Hyunjin-"

"Yes or no, Minho."

Minho paused. He knew. Of course he knew. He knew Hyunjin had been watching him more closely than the others, had been watching his aura change over the weeks. "Yes," he said heavily.

"Good. So you know why I want you to be the one to talk to Chan."

"I still think it’s a bad idea. Even if I-" Minho broke off. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t.

"Even if you what?" Hyunjin asked. Minho sighed. He had forgotten Hyunjin could be like this. Patient. Like an astronomer waiting for a star to fall.

"I think it’s a bad idea," he repeated. "Chan won’t want me there."

"On the contrary," Hyunjin said, lifting The Lovers and twirling it between his long fingers. "I think you’re exactly who he wants."

"I’m not going."

"He needs you."

"And how is that my problem?"

"You  _ know _ how, Minho. I’m not leaving until you say it."

"Then we’ll be here a while," Minho countered. "I don’t know what you think this’ll fix, Hyunjin. This won’t make me better. This won’t do some Cinderella transformation and make me a prince. I’ll still be me. I’ll still-"  _ Leave _ , he thought.  _ I’ll still leave him. Alone and confused and wondering why. _

"So you care?"

"What? How did you get from  _ that _ that I-"

"You want to be better. You want to change for him but you’re worried you won’t."

Minho let out a sound that was almost a growl. "Can you- can you shut your eyes? I don’t like that you’re pulling everything out of some floaty colours round my head, especially when I do you the courtesy of staying out of your damn skull."

Hyunjin shrugged. "You can be in my head if you want. Although I’m not sure it’ll help you."

"Oh, god. You’re right. I don’t want to know what you and Seungmin get up to in bed. You’re like my little brother, that’s  _ disgusting." _

"You’re deflecting."

"You started it."

Hyunjin sighed. "Why don’t you want to admit this, Minho? It doesn’t make you any less. It doesn’t hurt you."

Minho laughed. "Spoken like a true romantic. It does hurt, Hyunjin. It does. And I don’t know how to explain that to you, because you’ve always-" he paused, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he tried to find the words. "You’ve always been  _ good _ , you’ve always loved so easily, you’ve never had to wonder whether you deserve it, you’ve never pushed it away, you’ve never made yourself  _ sick  _ trying to fight it, you’ve-" he broke off, breathing harder than he thought he would be. His head spun. It was the punch, he told himself. Seungmin hit you harder than you thought.

"You got close, then," Hyunjin said gently. "To saying it."

"Shut  _ up _ ," Minho said, but it held no bite. If anything, he sounded a little tearful.

"Why are you trying so hard to fight it?" Hyunjin asked. "Because you’re worried you’ll hurt him? Or because you’re worried he’ll hurt you?"

"Chan wouldn’t hurt me," Minho said without thinking. He closed his eyes. Exhaled. "I don’t know what you mean. I’m not fighting anything."

"You wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving after sleeping with him if that were true."

"How do you know?"

"You’ve done it before. Never cared about what you left behind. But you care about Chan."

"He’s different. I mean- he’s not like other people I’ve slept with. I think I was his first, anyone would feel guilty after that." He could hear the volume of his own voice rising, didn’t even try to control it.

"Minho. You care about him."

"I mean, he’s sweet and I had a good night, but-"

_ "Minho _ ." The air froze at Hyunjin’s tone, and Minho with it. He waited, watched as Hyunjin crossed the room and took his hands, eyes steady against his. "Minho," he said, softer now. "It’s ok to be scared."

And Minho fell apart.

He cried and shook as Hyunjin wrapped him up in an embrace, rocked him back and forth with gentle shushing sounds. "I love him," he said in a strangled whisper. "I love him and he’ll hate me and I don’t know what to do and I need him I-"

"I know," Hyunjin said softly. "I know. That’s why you need to talk to him, Minho. Just this once, you need to stop running."

Minho shook his head against Hyunjin’s chest. "No," he choked out. "No, I can’t, he’ll never want me and it  _ hurts _ , Hyunjin, I hurt him and he’ll look at me like I’m nothing I  _ can’t be nothing to him- _ "

"And you’ll never know if you run," Hyunjin said. "This is your one chance, Minho. To say sorry. To tell him the truth of how you feel, and see what he offers in return." He received no reply. "For what it’s worth, I think he cares about you too. He doesn’t seem like the type to give you everything he did if he didn’t care." Minho just sobbed in his arms.

"Everything ok down here?" It was Jeongin’s voice, tinged with worry at the sight of Minho, face blotched red with tears and starting to bruise, shaking and pressing his forehead against Hyunjin’s shoulder.

"I think we’re fine,” Hyunjin said kindly. "Minho’s going to talk to Chan. Aren’t you?"

"Yeah," Minho said hesitantly. His voice sounded weak and childlike in his ears, and he saw Jeongin’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

"He, uh. Might want to clean up a bit first?" he suggested.

"Good idea," Hyunjin agreed. "Minho. Why don’t you go get changed and wash your face? I’ll meet you back down here."

"Ok," Minho said. God, he was tired. He just wanted this to be over. He got to his feet and headed for the stairs, ignoring the way three sets of feet shifted on floorboards as the first step creaked.

"Minho?" Hyunjin’s voice. He turned. "I’m proud of you. I know this is painful for you."

"You don’t," he said softly, tears still blurring his words. "But thanks." He headed up the stairs with all the dread of a hanged man, wondering if today would end with the loss of something he’d never even held.

Sand through his fingers that he’d barely dared to grasp.


	16. chapter sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in this chapter is (a heavily edited version of) the first scene I ever wrote of this story. If anyone wants to guess which one it is, I'll tell you the song that inspired it <3

Chan couldn’t really bring himself to move.

After he had awoken and found the dining room torn to pieces, splinters scattered like snow and blood clotted in his hair, he had, in a kind of stupor, dragged the only intact chair to the ballroom. The back was cracked and crooked, upholstery ragged, but at least it still stood on four legs. He let his head fall back, staring at the paintings on the ceiling, depictions of masked balls, people dancing in pearls and diamonds. He felt the distant urge to get up, spin in circles, dance and scream and cry until the paintings covered their eyes in shame at what their family had fallen to. The greatest sorcerers of all time, reduced to a madman in an empty house, laughing at nothing.

But it was  _ funny _ , wasn't it?  _ It's your job to maintain this place,  _ they had told him. Chan's father, his grandmother, the spirits he'd talk to under candlelight.  _ Hold it together. It'll fall apart without you, without the magic of our family _ . And he had tried. He had spent his whole life in this house, exploring every hidden passageway, every secret path in the gardens. He had maintained every spell, tying new knots in a spider's web of magic centuries old. And after all that, they weren't even his family.

Something whispered in the walls, and he conjured a plate from the kitchen just to throw it at the sound.

"Fuck off," he said savagely into the quiet. "I don't belong to you." Nothing answered. His whole life. His whole life, and nothing even had the decency to apologise.

What would he do if they did, he wondered? If every ancestor he'd ever invoked appeared to fill this empty ballroom, to kneel down and ask for forgiveness from him? Would he accept it with grace, repair the shattered dining room, the paintings he had slashed, the broken glass that had cut his feet on the way through the house? Would he stay? Chan laughed. It wasn't like he was thinking of leaving anyway. The outside world was unknown to him, a blank in his knowledge. No matter how much he hated this place, he couldn't leave. Not alone.

"Made quite a mess, didn’t you?" The voice came from the doorway, and Chan glanced up to see Minho leaning casually against the door frame, a chipped teacup in one hand.

"Get out," Chan said. The words held no bite. He was barely angry at Minho. Not anymore.

"Well that’s not very polite," Minho said delicately. "You’re normally a much more gracious host. But here I am, drinking wine out of a teacup, I suppose. That does say something about the standard of hospitality." He took a sip.

"Why are you here?" Chan asked dully. The mania was fading now that Minho was here, calm and cool as water to a fever. Nothing seemed quite so funny.

"I'm here for you. I didn't find out all those little hidden truths just to walk away from the aftermath."

"Really? Because you sort of did that already."

Minho didn’t respond immediately. There was something different about him, Chan noticed. Something stripped back. Clean white bone with all the flesh picked away. Perhaps the redness blooming on his cheek had something to do with that.

"I shouldn’t have done that," Minho said eventually. The words were so soft, so fragile. It was a tone he’d never heard from Minho. It made Chan want to hold him.

He closed his eyes. Minho looked too pretty to be fair, eyes wide and bright and momentarily uncertain in the dim candlelight, teacup delicately raised. He couldn't cope with it.  "So, you're just here to check you didn't fuck up badly enough that I died?"

"I'm here to get you out of this place," Minho said, and Chan wondered if he was imagining the gentleness in his tone. Somehow, he didn’t think he was. "I don't think it would be good for you, if you were to stay. Not that your bed here isn't comfortable." There it was. The Minho he was used to. Sharp and clever and teasing. Chan could imagine so clearly the sharp edge of his grin over the rim of the teacup.

"Why should I go with you?" Chan asked softly.  _ Just one push,  _ he thought. Minho could read minds, couldn’t he? Maybe if he thought it loud enough, Minho would hear him.  _ I'm scared of what's out there, and I'm scared of what you want. But just give me one more push and I'll go. _

"Because you want to see the sea," Minho said. "And I want to see you with that breeze in your hair."

Chan opened his eyes, meeting Minho’s across the room. For once, they were clear and honest, no twinkle or spark distracting his attention. Chan wasn't particularly fooled by that. Minho wasn't lying. He wanted to see Chan that way. What else he wanted, or how exactly he would treat Chan once they were out of here... that was a mystery.

But what else could Chan really lose? Even if Minho abandoned him out there, left him alone in a world he had never been allowed to see, would it be worse than spending his days here, letting this house fall apart around him?

"Do I need to take anything with me?" Chan asked eventually.

Minho shrugged. Chan could see how hard he was trying to be nonchalant, to hide his relief. "Some clothes,” he said. “As much money as you can find in this place. It's a long way to the sea from here, and as well as I can lie my way through most things, it's sometimes nicer to travel without worrying about being caught."

"That's all?"

"That's all." Minho drained the last of the wine from his teacup, dropping the fine china on the floor to be crushed beneath his shoe as he crossed the room.  He walked like he owned the world, and  Chan found he couldn't quite move when Minho looked like that. 

Minho smiled as he offered Chan his hand, pulling him to his feet. "I'll wait for you here," he said. "And then you'll see your first day outside these walls."  Chan couldn't help smiling at that, although he tried to hide it. Minho laughed. "You really don't quite trust me, do you?" he asked. Chan shook his head, and Minho's smile turned sharp and pained and bittersweet as he leaned in closer. "I'd call that quite sensible of you. But you were right before. What can you lose?"

"Nothing," Chan whispered, the sensation of Minho's breath on his skin taking away his voice. "I have nothing to lose."

Minho kissed him in lieu of a reply, and Chan felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him at the thought that this was his, Minho might be his. And if he wasn't, if the way Minho held him was something fleeting... Chan had already lost everything because of him. If Minho broke his heart again, he knew he would survive it.

But Minho sighed softly as he broke the kiss, and something small and hopeful in his chest told Chan it wouldn't come to that.

* * *

For a while, Chan couldn’t walk through the gate. He had packed up his things and followed Minho to the edge of the grounds, listening to Minho talk about the world outside; the city, the ocean, the far-off places Chan had only read about. He had been almost excited, beneath the blur of numbness that seemed to be coating his thoughts.

But now, facing the gate, Minho on the other side, he couldn’t take the last step.

"Chan," Minho said softly. "You can’t stay here. It’s not safe for you."

It wasn’t, Chan realised. It wasn’t safe here anymore. It was a miracle no one had tried to break in yet, searching for the elusive sorcerer who didn’t belong there. It was only a matter of time before someone was brave enough.

He looked at Minho. His eyes, sparkling with an emotion Chan couldn’t read. His outstretched hand. Was this safety? A man he barely knew but wanted anyway? A man who left him without a word and came back after tearing his life apart? No, Chan decided. Minho wasn’t safety. He was a risk. He’d always been a risk. And how long had it been since Chan had taken one of those?

Chan took Minho’s hand. He stepped across the threshold.

Behind him, the house creaked and groaned. A few panes of the glasshouse shattered into dust. But Chan didn’t feel it. The connection he had always felt, tied up in endless knots, was gone. Nothing but cut strings.

"Minho," he managed to say. "I can’t breathe." He crouched, bracing himself on a nearby tree, trying to find the edges of the hollow in his chest. It was gone. All the magic he knew so well. Gone. Torn out of him as easily as paper.

"Chan," he heard Minho saying. "Chan, listen to me. Just take my hand, ok? Breathe with me."

Chan tried. Tried to follow Minho’s pattern. But he couldn’t stop thinking of every portrait, every face he’d never see again, every book, every room. He couldn’t go back now. He knew he couldn’t. But there was so much he was going to lose.

Chan felt Minho’s arms around him, gentle as could be. He leaned into them, pulling in gasping breaths against Minho’s shoulder. " It’s ok," he heard Minho say quietly. "You’ll be ok, Chan. I promise."

It took half an hour for Chan to be able to stand. Even then he was shaky on his feet, unable to turn and look at the house without breaking down again.

"Can we go?" he asked, voice hoarse from tears. "Can we just go?"

"Ok," Minho agreed. "Ok, Chan. Let’s go." He picked up Chan’s suitcase in one hand. Laced their fingers together with the other. And, step by step, he led Chan away. Chan kept his eyes on Minho. Didn’t look back. He could come back here one day, he thought. It wouldn’t be the same. It might hurt. But he could come back. But right now, he didn’t belong there.

The house he’d never left disappeared into the trees, enveloped in green, and it was almost as though it had never been there at all.

* * *

Seungmin’s first impression of Chan was that he was quiet. There was something gentle about him, despite the shape of his shoulders, the strength in his build. He just radiated a kind of softness. It was a stark contrast to anyone he’d ever seen by Minho’s side.

Chan had stood just a little behind Minho as he was introduced to Hyunjin and Seungmin, smiled slightly at Jeongin when the youngest gave him a little wave. Minho had swept him away upstairs fairly quickly to get him settled in his room, and Hyunjin had assured Seungmin and Jeongin that he had everything under control. So the two of them were curled on Jeongin’s bed, hands linked, staring at the ceiling and wondering what happened next.

"Minho really does care about him, doesn’t he?" Jeongin asked. "The way he acts around him is different."

"It is," Seungmin agreed. "He’s… careful. Treats him like he’ll break. I’ve never seen him take that much care with anyone."

Jeongin drummed his fingertips against Seungmin’s knuckles thoughtfully. Seungmin watched him, wheels turning behind his bright eyes. He’d forever wonder how he got so lucky as to be with people as beautiful as Hyunjin and Jeongin, he decided.  "Do you think it’ll last? Minho being careful with Chan."

"I don’t know. He can’t be careful forever."

"He  _ shouldn’t _ be careful forever," Jeongin pointed out. "It won’t be anything real if Minho is always dancing around him."

"Mm," Seungmin agreed, pressing his nose into Jeongin’s hair.

"I think it could be something," Jeongin continued softly. "If Minho can be honest and Chan can learn to trust him properly."

"I don’t know if it should, though," Seungmin admitted. "Chan seems sweet. And Minho can be a lot of good things when he tries, but  _ sweet _ ?" He sighed. "I don’t know. I just don’t know if Minho will be good for Chan, and I don’t know if obsessing over Chan has been good for Minho."

"It made him admit he was missing something, didn’t it?" Jeongin pointed out.

"I suppose it did." Seungmin sighed again, pulling Jeongin closer despite his muffled protests. "I know the three of us weren’t the quickest fix, but I’m glad we were never quite as complicated as those two."

"No," Jeongin agreed, "we weren’t." He lifted his face to Seungmin’s then, kissing him softly, and Seungmin thanked every god he’d ever read about that he had this.

"I hope it turns out well for them," Jeongin said quietly a few moments after he pulled away.

Seungmin thought of Minho, the way he had broken down slowly over the last few weeks, the light in his eyes when he looked at Chan. He’d never seen Minho look at anyone like that.

"So do I," he murmured. "And I hope they don’t do each other too much damage along the way."

* * *

Hyunjin cornered Minho after Chan had gone to bed.

"Were you honest with him?" he asked, perched on the armchair. Minho said nothing, attention focused on setting up his makeshift bed on the sofa. "Minho?"

"Not entirely," Minho said.

"What did you say to him?"

"That I shouldn’t have left him."

Hyunjin sighed heavily. "Minho..."

"I know. I know I need to tell him, but you didn't see him, Hyunjin. He was broken. I couldn't just tell him out of the blue that I loved him. He wouldn't have taken it well."

"Sometimes people don't take things well, Minho. That's what being honest is about. That you told them, even though you thought they might hate you for it."

Minho sat silent for a moment. "I kissed him," he admitted eventually. "Does that count as honesty?"

Hyunjin let out an exasperated sigh. "No, Minho. That just cements your position as a piece of shit who's only interested in him for the sake of sex."

"What do you mean, cements my position?" Minho asked. "That's not what I am."

"That's exactly what you look like."

"If that were all I wanted from him, I wouldn't be sleeping on the sofa," Minho grumbled.

Hyunjin fixed him with a glare. "You absolutely would. This is my house, there are rules."

Minho didn't even attempt a joke in return, and Hyunjin's expression softened. "Minho, you know I only want what's best for you. Be honest with Chan. At least tell him you want to get to know him better. He'll never be yours otherwise."

"Should he be?" Minho asked heavily. "Should he be mine?"

Hyunjin didn't answer for a moment. "That depends," he said eventually, "on whether you're willing to be better for him." He passed a gentle hand over Minho's hair and disappeared up the stairs.

"I think I'm willing to try," Minho whispered, but Hyunjin was already gone.

* * *

Chan couldn’t sleep in Minho’s bed. It was comfortable enough, he thought, the pillows soft and the sheets clean, but the concept of  _ Minho’s bed _ was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.  _ It’s not like he hasn’t slept in yours _ , he told himself bitterly. The thought hurt, and he tried to push it away. It persisted.

He sighed. What was he doing here? In this house, in Minho’s bed, surrounded by Minho’s friends. When Minho had shown up in the ballroom, smile as sharp as ever, Chan had felt some stupid kind of hope. And when Minho had kissed him… He had thought that maybe he’d been wrong. That when Minho had left, he had intended to come back. But the way his friends spoke to him, looked at him… there was something about Minho that they didn’t trust. And Chan had been stupid enough not to see it.

He rolled over, pressing his cheek against the pillow. God, it smelled of him. That was the last thing he needed. He hadn’t even considered how Minho might smell until they’d been so close, tangled together, and then Chan had just got  _ lost  _ in it.

Suddenly unable to stand the thought of Minho, he threw the pillow off the bed. It hit the floor with a satisfying thump.

This was the first night he’d ever been outside those walls, he thought to himself as he let his head hit the bare sheets. And it was spent tossing and turning in the bed of a man who might be his lover or his deceiver. Or both. Depending on how things went from here.

He cursed himself for that thought. That he still might have a chance with Minho. That he even  _ wanted  _ a chance with Minho. Chan had been so angry with him when he’d found out what he’d done. Furious. Minho had betrayed him utterly.

But a smile, a kiss, and Chan had fallen all over again. What could he lose, after all? Minho had already taken everything else. Chan may as well offer up his heart.

Chan closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what would happen now. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen. But he was here now, and lying awake would solve nothing. He reached down to retrieve the pillow, letting himself breathe in the scent that clung to it. Pulling the covers up around his ears, he curled himself up and imagined Minho was holding him.


	17. chapter seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me an age because I had to stop and adjust my chapter splits; a 6000+ word chapter followed by a 3000 word chapter just wasn't right. So, I present to you a 4900 word chapter (and a 5200 word chapter on Tuesday).

Chan came down to breakfast late. Minho had been waiting for him, tapping his fingers nervously on the table until Seungmin had rolled his eyes and left, newspaper abandoned. Minho didn’t think he could be blamed for being nervous. But, he supposed, if the bruise forming on his face was anything to go by, Seungmin blamed him for a fair few things.

When Chan arrived, Minho almost jumped out of his seat. He looked tired, dark circles under swollen eyes. Had he slept, Minho wondered? Or had the two of them lain awake together, separated by stairs and some other, more intangible barrier?

"Good morning," Minho said quietly. Chan’s head snapped up, eyes widening at the sound of his voice. He stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, apparently unsure of how to respond.

"Good morning," he said eventually, and silence flooded the space after his words. Minho could hear his own heart beating as Chan sat down across from him, couldn’t find it in him to be the version of himself that Chan knew so well. Hyunjin had told him to be honest. Be himself. He could try that.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"It was ok," Chan replied, not meeting Minho’s eyes. "Thank you for giving up your room."

"It’s not a problem," Minho said awkwardly.  _ Don’t make a joke,  _ he told himself.  _ Don’t be like that with him _ . "You’re my guest, after all."

Chan gave a vague hum of assent, still looking a little lost.  _ He doesn’t know where anything is, you idiot _ , some little voice in Minho’s head told him.

"Do you- do you want some breakfast?" He managed to ask. "We- we have bread, if you want toast, or some fruit… there’s coffee and tea… I sometimes go out to get pastries from the bakery around the corner, I could buy you some if you want…" he trailed off, all too aware of Chan’s silence. It felt like a gap between them, something no words could bridge.

"Toast is fine," Chan said eventually.

"Ok," Minho said weakly. "I’ll- the bread is over here. The toaster- you can see the toaster, I guess." He sat back down as Chan navigated the kitchen without a word. Minho didn’t even know if he should be here. Should he leave? Would it relieve the awkwardness? But he and Chan couldn’t avoid each other forever. And Minho didn’t  _ want  _ to leave. He wanted things back to how they had been, the easy conversation between the two of them. That would take time, he supposed. But for now, he maybe just wanted Chan to smile.

"What happened to your face?" Chan asked softly. Minho jolted at the sound of his voice.

"Seungmin," Minho told him. "I was a little rude to Hyunjin, and tensions were running high anyway…" he didn’t know how much to say about the fact that they had been discussing Chan at the time. "I probably deserved it," he finished lamely.

"I suppose I can’t comment," Chan said lightly. If not for everything Minho had done, he might have thought it a joke. He said nothing.

"You can… you can go," Chan said eventually. "If you have things to do."

"I don’t, really," Minho told him.  _ You were the focus of everything until now _ , he thought.  _ You still are. I just want to be around you _ .

"Oh," Chan replied. "Then…" his words faded.

"I could show you around the city, if you like," Minho suggested. "If you feel up to going out."

He saw Chan stiffen. Knew what his answer would be before it came. "I sort of don’t," Chan admitted. "Outside… feels like too much."

"That’s ok," Minho said. "I’m sure we can find something to occupy you." He thought his own voice sounded a little desperate.

"Yeah," Chan agreed vaguely. Yet again, silence. Minho didn’t think he could bear this.

"I’ll leave you to your breakfast," he said abruptly. "I need to talk to Jisung about something. Jeongin is upstairs if you need anything."

He only caught a glimpse of Chan before he turned away, the briefest picture of him, eyes wide like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a hunter. Was he afraid? Did he feel safer with Minho close? Minho could feel his chest aching at the idea.

"Ok," was all Chan said. "I’ll see you later?"

"Mm," Minho agreed. "I’ll be back… sometime."  _ I’ll be back when I don’t think you hate me. I’ll be back when I can stop panicking that I’ve lost you altogether. _

He left before Chan could ask him when that would be. If he was even going to ask at all.

* * *

The knock on Hyunjin’s door was tentative, quiet as a mouse, and he almost didn’t hear it.

"Come in," he called softly. He sat up as Chan peeked around the door, features cast into shadow by the faint sunlight passing through their curtains. For once, Seungmin wasn’t with him. He had been anxious the night before, unsettled by the changes in the house and Hyunjin’s own anxiety, and had clung to Jeongin until he had sighed and offered to let Seungmin share his bed. It was a first for Seungmin to sleep apart from Hyunjin. As much as sleeping alone had felt strange, it made him oddly proud that his lover was learning to find safety somewhere else. It showed he was healing, after all those years.

"Oh," Chan said, "should I come back later? I didn’t realise you were still sleeping."

"No," Hyunjin reassured him with a smile, "I was awake. Just a little lazy." He patted the duvet. "Come sit down."

Hesitantly, Chan sat beside him. He didn’t seem to want to make eye contact, aura shifting in pale, fearful shades of grey, touched with a depth of blue too sad for Hyunjin to bear for long. Slowly, Hyunjin reached to touch his hand. "Is everything ok?" he asked.

Chan inhaled. Exhaled again. Hyunjin waited for him to speak. "With Minho…" he said eventually, words hesitant as snowfall. "Which one is real?"

"Which one?"

"The version of him I know, or the one you all seem to be afraid of."

Hyunjin didn’t know what to say for that. He hadn’t expected, given everything Minho had managed to get away with, for Chan to be so perceptive. But here he was, seeing right to the heart of all of them.

"It's an interesting question. Obviously I've not seen Minho the way you have, but... I can’t say that they’re different people, if I’m honest," he said slowly. "They’re one and the same. Minho…" he paused, unsure of how to proceed. "Minho is easily obsessed. He clings to things. Gives his whole self to them. And I think, maybe, that just… manifests differently. With the way we've seen him, with the riots… He's chaotic. Ruthless. Doesn't care who stands in his way. But he can be kind, like you know him to be. He can. If…"

"If he wants something," Chan finished dully. A wave of panic rushed through Hyunjin’s throat. He hadn’t meant it that way. Damn it, why was Minho so hard to explain?

"If he thinks something is worth keeping," he said carefully. "Then he’ll do what he needs to in order to keep it. Not necessarily in a malicious or calculating way, but… if he’s kind to you, it’s because he wants to keep you close."

"I want to keep him close, too," Chan admitted after a moment. "But I don't- I think he knows me better than I know him. I don't know if I should want to keep him close when I barely know anything about him."

"Do you want me to tell you? I've known him almost my whole life. I know one of two things."

"Would he be ok with that? With you… With me knowing those things?"

Hyunjin sighed. "Honestly, I think it's unfair that you don't. What do you want to know?"

Chan paused. "Where he grew up; what it was like for him, I suppose. What happened to make him…" He trailed off.

"I can't answer that last one," Hyunjin told him gently. "I'm sure you think that people don't become like Minho unless they're forced to, but that's not always how it works. I don't think there was ever a defining moment for him. No big ugly choice that made him turn into a different person. He just… it's impossible to change the world without it changing you. Like with the riots, he… that was harmless, when he was first involved. He just wanted to make a difference. He was just a child. His family weren’t like him, weren't sorcerers, so he ran away and made himself a new one with us. He wanted to help people like Seungmin and I. And then it just… took root in him. He spent too much time around people with an agenda, saw too much blood and anger and hope and he let it swallow him whole. He forgot how to care about other things, and I think, eventually, he forgot to care about the people he’d been fighting for from the start." He sighed heavily. He never knew how to think about this. Had Minho been like this, been violent and detached and obsessive, from the beginning? Had he just not seen it, the shine of Minho's aura blinding him?

"Maybe his moral compass had always been skewed towards that. Maybe he was just built to obsess over things. I don't know. But he just… Changed. Piece by piece. Lost himself."

Silence, for a moment. Hyunjin didn’t know how to fill it. He didn’t know what else he could say.

"Do you think he could change again?" Chan asked slowly. Hyunjin could hear his voice shaking.

"Honestly?" Hyunjin managed to say. "I don’t know." Chan’s shoulders dropped, aura turning every shade of blue and pained bronze, and Hyunjin thought his heart would break. No wonder Minho had fallen apart for him. There was something almost holy about Chan. A shine that Hyunjin couldn’t bear to tarnish.

"You- You've affected him, Chan. I’ve never seen him like this," Hyunjin continued softly. "I can’t say for sure that it's permanent. I hope it is."

"I understand," Chan said quietly. "Thank you."

"Whatever happens," Hyunjin said, reaching for his hand again, "you have a place with us. Minho… I don’t know how long he’ll stay. Wanderlust is strong in him. If he leaves, you’re welcome to stay." He squeezed Chan’s hand. "It’s a house of misfit sorcerers, after all."

"Thank you," Chan said again. "I mean it."

"I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more. It's difficult, trying to explain what happened when I wasn't really there."

"It's ok," Chan replied. " I just... want to know if I can trust him." He rose without another word, heading for the door. The rising sunlight illuminated the barest hint of a sad smile aimed at Hyunjin as he left. Hyunjin tried to smile back.

He hoped, he decided as Chan closed the door, that Chan be careful about trusting Minho again. Would hold back.

But Chan didn’t seem like the type. He was clever, and perceptive, but his heart was soft as clay; placed into Minho's palms to mould into something beautiful, or crush between his hands. Hyunjin had seen Minho do it before.

He sighed, curling up in his empty bed again. There was nothing more he could do for Minho, he decided; if he gave up on Chan, dropped him like a toy that lost its appeal, Hyunjin couldn’t help him anymore.

There was only so far he could go. Only so much of himself he could give before he started breaking too.

So he closed his eyes, and waited for Minho’s next move.

* * *

Felix was awoken by Minho hammering on their front door. He sat up slowly, blinking away sleep and felt Jisung shift beside him.

"Wake  _ up _ you lazy sods, I need your help!"

"Rude," Jisung mumbled. "Shall we make him wait ten minutes?"

"Jisung,  _ please _ !"

Jisung sat bolt upright. Felix stared at him. "Did Minho just say please?"

"I think he did," Jisung said, tone awed. "We should let him in." He stumbled out of bed, shouting to Minho through the walls. "One minute!"

"What do you think is wrong?" Felix asked softly. He made to get out of bed, and Jisung glared. "You’ve got to let me get up by myself at some point, Jisung."

"Fine," Jisung muttered, buttoning his shirt. "And I don’t know. I’ve never heard him say please, I don’t think. It must be something serious."

Minho, once they let him in, paced around their flat like a caged tiger, running his hands frantically through his hair. Neither of them asked about the deep violet blue marring his cheek.

"Minho," Jisung said gently. "Calm down. Take it one thing at a time." Minho glanced at him, met his eyes, and Felix watched something settle in the air between them. They were like this sometimes, the two of them, and it reminded him just how much had passed between them. They were lucky, he thought, to have found friends in each other.

"Is it about Chan?" Felix asked.

Minho nodded.  "I’ve ruined it. It’s awkward and I hate it and he hates  _ me  _ and I just need your help in fixing it."

"Woah, woah, slow down," Jisung said. "We’ve barely left the house in weeks. We need catching up."

Minho’s face fell. He sat down heavily on the sofa, eyes on the carpet. "You do. There’s… a lot."

"Well, at least we know someone punched you at some point," Jisung joked weakly. Minho laughed, hand fluttering up to his cheek.

"Yeah, they… they did. Ok. This might take a while."

Jisung and Felix sat quietly while Minho spoke, refusing to meet either of their eyes as he explained how his feelings for Chan had grown; how Hyunjin had forced him to confront them; how everything was strange and silent between the two of them now. For a while after he finished speaking, there was silence. Felix didn’t quite know what to say. Apparently Jisung didn’t either.

"Minho…" he said eventually. "This is why you wouldn’t talk to us about Chan, right?"

Minho gave a bleak laugh. "Yeah,” he said. “I deserved the punch, right?"

"Sort of," Jisung admitted. "But you want to fix this? Is that why you need our help?"

"I need everything you know about Chan’s real family. Everything. I want to show him that he still has a tether, a link… he thinks he’s nothing without the Bangs. I want to prove him wrong."

"We might need a bit of time to collect it all in one place," Felix said, gesturing to the vast stacks of paper scattered about the room.

"Can you do it by tomorrow?"

Felix glanced at Jisung. "We can," Jisung said. "We’ll do our best, at least."

Minho visibly relaxed. "Thank you," he said earnestly. " _ Thank you _ ." Felix thought he might cry.

"This might not fix everything," Jisung warned. "It sounds like you and Chan have a lot more issues, Minho. But I think maybe, even after all the shit you’ve done… you deserve some kind of chance. We’ll help until we think it’s unreasonable, ok?"

"Absolutely. I promise I won’t push my luck, I swear, I… if he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t want me. I just want him to be happy." Felix watched his fingers twitch as he spoke, eyes shining. Despite everything he said, Felix thought Minho would suffer a great deal if Chan cut whatever vague red threads reached between the two of them.

"We’ll be here for you," Jisung said quietly. Minho nodded, expression a little sad, and Felix knew he understood that Jisung meant they’d be there for him if he ended up alone at the end of this.

"Bring Chan round whenever, ok?" Felix told him. "We’d love to meet him."

Minho nodded. "I will. He’s… I think you’ll like him."

Jisung grinned. "The guy who’s sweet enough to steal your heart? I think he’ll knock us off our damn feet."

Minho laughed, but there was barely humour in it. It was warm in a way Felix didn’t think he’d ever heard from Minho. Gentle. He really was in love.

"You should probably head back to him now," Felix said, nudging him with an elbow. "You’ll never stop being awkward if you don’t talk to him."

"Yeah," Minho said softly. He was afraid, Felix thought. Afraid that things would never change. "I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully."

"Tomorrow," Jisung confirmed as Minho headed for the door. "And Minho?"

"Mm?"

"If you need space… we’re here."

"Thank you, Jisung. That means a lot."

The silence after the door closed was heavy.

"Wow," Jisung said eventually. "Just… wow."

"Yup," Felix agreed.

"Never thought I’d see Lee Minho in love."

"Sounds like it took him a while to get there. Well. It sounds like it took him a while to  _ admit  _ he got there," Felix corrected himself.

Jisung sat down beside him with a sigh, head on Felix’s shoulder. "It’s just so… I never thought I’d see him spiral like this. All these years, he’s always had such control of how he feels and acts. I’ve just… I didn’t think this would happen to him."

"It’s hurting him," Felix said quietly.

"It is," Jisung agreed.

"I hope it stops. I hope he learns to live with it."

Jisung sighed, wrapping an arm gently over Felix’s waist. Felix wondered if he’d ever stop being so careful. Treating Felix as though he were a paper doll, waiting to tear in two. "I hope so, too."

* * *

It was strange, Chan thought, to be surrounded by the papers that documented his life. He was standing in Jisung and Felix’s office, boxes on every surface, Minho sitting anxiously on the arm of the sofa as Chan looked around. Minho had come home the previous day and asked if he’d wanted to visit the people who wrote the article. It was a short walk, he promised, and Minho would take care of him. He’d agreed, despite the look he saw Seungmin and Jeongin exchange.

And here he was, surrounded by a history unlike anything he’d ever known.

"This is… all about me?" he asked tentatively.

"Pretty much," Jisung told him. "If there’s anything about your real parents, it’s probably in here."

"Oh," Chan managed to say. He thought he might cry. He’d thought his family history was the manor on the hill, ancient paintings and statues, names carved into crypts. Books of a tree going back centuries. But it was here. Contained in no more than ten boxes. Everything he was.

"Are you… Are you ok?" Jisung asked slowly.

"I need a minute," Chan said quietly. He could already hear tears in his voice.

"Ok," Felix said. "We’ll be in the back ok?" Chan heard two sets of footsteps retreat. He didn’t have time to glance up before he felt Minho’s arms around him.

"I’m sorry," Minho said softly, pulling him close. Chan let Minho comfort him, hands soothing on his back, gentle shushing noises in his ear as he cried. It shouldn’t make him feel better, he thought. Minho was the reason he was in this room. Minho was the reason for this moment. The reason Chan couldn’t pin down who he was anymore.

But it was Minho. Who somehow, after everything, made Chan feel like it didn’t matter if he couldn’t quite figure out who he was. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Minho. Heard Minho let out a faint sound that might have been a sob or a sigh as Chan pressed his face against his shoulder.

"I can’t do this right now," Chan whispered.

Minho’s arms tightened around him. "I’m sorry. I thought this would be a good thing."

"It is. I want to know who my family are. I want to honour them."

"You can. But it doesn’t have to be now." Minho pulled away, reaching to tentatively wipe away his tears. His eyes shone with something Chan hadn’t seen in them before. "We can ask Jisung and Felix to look through it all, and then they can report back, ok?"

"Is that ok? I don’t want to give them work to do, I don’t-"

"Chan," Minho stopped him gently. Chan felt his heart swell just at the way Minho shaped his name. "I can ask them. I’m sure they won’t mind. Felix needs to stay indoors while his wound heals anyway."

Chan couldn’t reply. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t.

"Ok," Minho murmured against Chan’s hair. "Stay here, love. I’ll go talk to Jisung and Felix."

Chan almost missed the use of the pet name in his misery. Almost. He felt it linger as Minho disappeared into the back of the flat, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know  _ Minho _ . Not really. But he felt safe when Minho held him, stood beside him, called him by words that dripped with sweetness. And Minho seemed so glad to be there, offering to go everywhere with him, keeping his careful distance but occasionally reaching out to touch as though he couldn’t help himself.

_ He seemed happy to be around you before _ , Chan told himself.  _ And then you found out that everything he’d said to you was a lie. _

"It’s ok," Minho said from the doorway. "They’ll- Chan?"

Chan had stepped back as soon as he had heard Minho’s voice; some panicked instinct, remembering that Minho had lied, Minho had  _ left him _ , Minho had-

"Chan, are you ok?" Minho’s hand closed around his own. His eyes were wide and shining with concern, and Chan felt himself relax just a little.

"I’m fine," he said softly. "You just startled me."

"Ok," Minho said. He sounded worried.

"Let’s go home," Chan suggested, and Minho nodded, keeping a tight hold of Chan’s hand as they left the office. His hand was so warm. He really didn’t know how long he could stand this. Not knowing if Minho was sincere. Not knowing what any of it meant. But who else would he go to? Who else knew him the way Minho did?

Things couldn’t stay this way forever, he knew. But for now, he decided, he could find some small comfort in the one person who knew him better than anyone else.

Even if he wasn’t sure if he knew Minho at all.

* * *

"This isn’t good for them," was the first thing Seungmin said once Chan and Minho had left. "Either of them."

Hyunjin sighed. The three of them were curled on Hyunjin and Seungmin’s bed, Hyunjin’s leg hanging off the side and Jeongin outright clinging to Seungmin so that he wouldn’t fall off. They needed to do something about that, Hyunjin thought.

"What else are they going to do, though?" Jeongin asked. "Minho is sort of all Chan has. He doesn’t know anyone else out here. He doesn’t know how anything works out here."

Seungmin let out a vague sound of frustration, and Hyunjin reached across Jeongin to touch his hand gently. 

"I know what you mean, scrap," he said softly. "I think they could both benefit from some distance. But Jeongin has a point. Even with everything Minho did, Chan obviously still trusts him on a level he doesn’t trust us. I can see it in his aura, there’s this… tether. Like his colours shift when Minho’s do."

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" Jeongin asked. He sounded awed, in a gentle, curious way. Hyunjin didn’t know if he’d ever be able to express how much he loved that.

"No," he replied. "I think it’s because of the strength of Chan’s magic. It’s sort of… imprinted on Minho’s. Like how Seungmin can find all of us."

"You think Chan’s stuck with him, then?" Seungmin asked. Hyunjin saw the bitterness flush his aura, saw it fade when Jeongin pulled him impossibly closer and rested his head on Seungmin’s shoulder.

"I think they love each other," Hyunjin said carefully, "and they need time to learn how to love well. But I think, if Minho lets it happen, they can make each other better, Seungmin. Given that time."

"I think Seungmin’s right," Jeongin countered quietly. "I think Chan needs space. You’re right too, I think, about them loving each other well. But I don’t think they can do that until Chan realises that he’s something outside of Minho’s view of him."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Seungmin asked. "Send Minho to live with Jisung and Felix?"

"The groundskeepers," Jeongin said after a moment. "Chan does know someone out here. He knows Woojin and Changbin."

"You’re right," Seungmin said. Hyunjin watched him run his hand over Jeongin’s hair thoughtfully. "We could ask them if they’d be willing to have him stay a little while."

"Sounds good to me," Jeongin agreed. "I don’t know how happy Minho will be with it, but they can’t be together all the time. Not when they’re like this."

Hyunjin thought about it. The shades of their auras. So bright when they were together, but so afraid, so bitter sometimes. No, he thought. They couldn’t stay so close when they were like this. So wrapped up in what the other thought of them.

"Who’ll go to ask Woojin and Changbin?" he asked.

"I can," Seungmin said. "It was my idea for Chan to go, after all."

"Ok, scrap. Let us know, ok?"

"I will," Seungmin agreed. He shifted on the bed, kissing the top of Jeongin’s head and the back of Hyunjin’s hand before he gently dislodged himself from their embrace. "No time like the present, huh?"

"Come back soon," Jeongin said softly.

"I will," Seungmin promised. Hyunjin watched his expression, watched the smile flit across his eyes. He loved seeing him so happy. He loved being _ part _ of that happiness.

Perhaps one day, he thought as he shifted closer to Jeongin, Minho and Chan would have something like this too. Would make each other smile, softly, secretly, with no bitterness between them.

But perhaps that just needed time.

* * *

Judging by Changbin’s expression when he opened the door, Seungmin wasn’t the person he had been expecting.

"Hi," Seungmin said. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Changbin said, opening the door wider to allow him in. "Do you want tea? I was just putting the kettle on for Woojin and I."

"No thanks. This shouldn’t take long." From the living room, Woojin gave him a slight wave. Seungmin waved back.

"Is everything ok?" Changbin asked, placing the kettle on the stovetop. Seungmin sighed.

"It’s… I don’t know. I came to ask you something."

"Figured that," Changbin said under his breath. Seungmin snorted. If they’d had time, he thought, if they’d met in better circumstances, he and Changbin would get on well.

"Would you let Chan stay with you for a while?"

Changbin turned, frowning. "Is he ok?"

"Yes? I don’t know. He seems to be coping well enough, but… I don’t know how much of that is due to Minho sort of clinging to him."

"You want him away from Minho?" Changbin asked. Seungmin nodded. "You could have said that to start with. I don’t think that guy’s good for him."

"Me neither. I think even if he knows that he loves Chan now, he’s not secure in it enough to let Chan be his own person yet. It’s dangerous."

"What’s dangerous?" Woojin asked softly from the doorway.

"Chan staying so close to Minho," Changbin replied.

"Oh. I see."

"You don’t agree?" Seungmin asked. Changbin shot him a warning look.

"I do," Woojin said, "but I think you can’t separate them completely. As much as we’re scared he’ll abuse it, Minho is someone Chan trusts. He was the one who brought him out here in the first place. We can’t stop them seeing each other completely. I don’t think that would be good for either of them."

"But Chan can stay with us for a while? He could still visit Minho," Changbin pointed out. Woojin nodded slowly.

"I’ll maybe get Jeongin or Hyunjin to suggest it to him," Seungmin said. "I think they could convince him."

"You couldn’t?" Changbin asked.

"I’m not… the best with people," Seungmin said delicately. "Especially Minho." Changbin smiled slightly. It felt less mocking than it might have done from someone else, and Seungmin thought he might be remembering the punch. Behind him, the kettle started to whistle. "I’ll leave you to your tea."

"Thanks for coming round. We’ll expect updates." Seungmin nodded, heading for the front door. "Seungmin?" Changbin called. He hesitated before he spoke again. "How much of this is about Chan?"

Seungmin thought for a moment. Of course Changbin had seen through him there. "Not all of it," he replied. "I want Minho to be happy, too. I don’t think he can reach that when he can only focus on Chan. He needs time to figure out who he is by himself."

Changbin looked at him. "You’re a good friend," he said eventually. "See you around, Seungmin."

"See you," Seungmin replied. He sighed as he headed back along the lane towards the city. It was the right thing to do. To separate Minho and Chan for a little while. But, he thought, if Minho found out he had been the one behind it… it might just drive even more of a wedge between Minho and himself. It was a sacrifice he maybe had to make. For Minho’s sake.


	18. chapter eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the end <3

"It’s not really much," Changbin said as he unlocked the door to the cottage. "But we like it." He gave Chan a slight smile, holding the door open for him. Chan tried to smile back. He wasn’t sure if he managed it.

Hyunjin had approached him the previous evening. He had spoken softly to him, suggested that he stay with his old friends for a little while, reconnect with them. It would be good for him, Hyunjin had said, to have a link between his old and new lives. A bridge. Chan had understood that. He had been a little scared to see the two of them again, in all honesty. To see how much had changed.

Minho had sat silently throughout the whole conversation. Chan had sort of expected him to intervene, or argue. Insist that he stay. But when Chan met his eyes, he had looked away.

"You can sleep here," Changbin told him, leading him through to a tiny little room, most of the space taken up by a bed. The branches of a rowan danced outside the window, splitting the sunlight into fractions. "It used to be Woojin’s room, but he… he moved in with me." He was blushing a little when Chan turned to look at him, and his smile was genuine this time. Even when they were young, he had seen the adoration in Woojin’s eyes, the care with which Changbin had always treated him. It was good that the two of them had realised what had been so clear to him.

"Are you ok?" Changbin asked. "You’re not… you’ve not really said much."

"I’m- I don’t know," Chan replied after a moment. "It’s a lot. To know all this is out here. I feel…" he hesitated, trying to find the right word. "Disconnected."

Changbin rested a hand on his shoulder. "That makes sense. It’s a lot of new things at once. But we can start you off slowly, yeah? You can stay with Woojin and I as long as you need to. Right, Woojin?"

Woojin hummed from where he had appeared around the corner, a mug of tea in his hands. He held it out to Chan, who took it gratefully. It had been years since someone made him a cup of tea, he thought to himself. Years.

"Oh, hey," Woojin said softly, reaching out to him. "Let’s not cry. Sit down, Chan." He felt Woojin try to gently take the mug from his hands as the three of them crowded together on the small bed, but he held it tightly, not wanting to let go. "Ok," he heard Woojin say softly. "Be careful not to spill it."

"Is it too much?" Changbin asked him, hand moving in soothing circles on his back. "Do you need some time by yourself?"

"No," Chan managed to sob. "Not by myself. Please."

"Ok," Woojin said, pulling him against his shoulder. "I’ll stay here for a bit. Changbin, why don’t you go and put some food on? I’m sure Chan will feel better once he eats something."

"Good idea," Changbin agreed. "We actually cook here, unlike Jeongin’s lot." Chan gave a weak, wet laugh, and Changbin smiled faintly, squeezing his shoulder as he got up to leave. Once he had gone, Woojin pulled Chan against him more securely.

"You never have to be alone again, Chan," he said softly. "I promise. We never wanted to leave you in the first place. You don’t know how good it is to have you back."

"It’s good to see both of you, too," Chan said, words blurred in the fabric of Woojin’s shirt. "I missed you. I’m glad you’re happy together."

Woojin smiled, eyes shining a little. "We are. Although we wouldn’t be if not for Minho, probably." He spoke carefully, as though he weren’t sure whether to broach the subject.

"How?" Chan asked, doing his best to control his tone. Even Minho’s name set him shaking for reasons he couldn’t quite decipher.

"He came to us for help," Woojin explained. "Since we knew you. It made us reconsider our history, I suppose." He went quiet for a moment. "I’ve loved him for so long," he said eventually. "I can’t quite believe he’s mine sometimes."

"But he is," Chan murmured, resting his head on Woojin’s shoulder.

"He is," Woojin agreed.

Chan let Woojin hold him close in the silence, tears running quieter now as his fear of being alone passed. "Why am I here, Woojin?" he asked eventually.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ask to have me stay with you? Or did they want me to leave?"

He felt Woojin stiffen a little. "Seungmin thought it would be better for you to be here."

"So it wasn’t Minho?"

"Chan…"

Chan pulled away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Sorry. Shouldn’t be thinking about him. I’ll shut up."

Woojin pulled his arm down, meeting his tearful gaze. "It’s ok to think about him, Chan. He’s been a huge part of your life lately. It’s understandable that he matters to you. That you care."

Chan hunched his shoulders. "But he doesn’t care. About me. He lied to me the entire time, and I still-" he stopped. "The way he acts sometimes, now… I can’t stop thinking that things will be ok for us. I’d imagined things being ok for us."

"Oh, Chan," Woojin said softly. "I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make this better for you."

"You can’t, I guess," Chan said, turning his face away. "I just have to stop being stupid."

"You’re not being stupid, Chan. It’s ok to care."

Chan sighed, burying his face in Woojin’s shoulder again. "I really thought that was why I was here," he whispered. "I thought he’d asked for me to leave because he got sick of having to pretend he liked me."

"Oh, Chan. No. Chan." Woojin’s words sounded pained, and Chan almost regretted telling him the truth. "Chan, Seungmin asked if you could stay here for a while because he thought you needed to get away from Minho. Just to be without him for a while." He paused. "I agree. I don’t think… I’m not saying you should never see him again. But just some time to find out who you are without him. He’s influenced you so strongly, and I think that could be- I worry that he’d manipulate you."

"Into what?"

Woojin paused. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. "I don’t think," he said slowly, "that you should assume he doesn’t care about you. I think he does."

Hope bloomed in Chan’s chest, bright and naive as daisies. "You do?"

"I do. But I don’t think he knows how to treat someone he cares for. So I think you need to learn to be without him. Just in case you two do end up… involved. You need to be ready to leave in case he pushes too far."

"I don’t think he’d want to hurt me," Chan said in a small voice. He sounded pathetic, he thought. Desperate.

" I don’t know him very well," Woojin admitted, "but judging from what Seungmin’s told me, Minho hurts people without thinking, even if he loves them." Woojin sighed. "I know you care about him. I’m not telling you not to care. But I just want you to be careful with him. I don’t want to see you hurt."

"I know," Chan said softly. "Thank you."

"Someone come help me chop veg!" Changbin called from the kitchen. Woojin squeezed Chan’s hand and smiled.

"Ready?" he asked.

Chan nodded. "Ready."

* * *

"Do you think he’s alright? With Woojin and Changbin?"

Seungmin sighed as Minho paced up and down, biting at the corner of his thumb. It had only been two days since Chan had left, and Minho was already a wreck. "I’m sure he’s fine, Minho. You’ve asked me three times in the last two hours."

Minho shot him a fraught glance, collapsing into the armchair and frowning at his now bleeding thumb. "I’m just worried about him," he said quietly. "Do you think I should visit him?"

"I think you should leave him alone," Seungmin said firmly, and something in his tone made Minho shrink back a little. He’d forgotten that Seungmin could do that. "You don’t know how he feels about you. You’ve said you’re in love with him, but if you really care then you’ll give him time to decide without trying to influence him."

Minho was silent for a moment. "I miss him," he said eventually, hating how hopeless he sounded. "I miss him so much it  _ hurts _ , Seungmin."

"Then let it hurt. Remember how it feels to lose him, and don’t hurt him again."

Minho looked up, finally meeting Seungmin’s steady gaze. "When did you get so wise, scrap?" he asked softly, only the faintest hint of humour in his tone.

"When I fell in love twice, and nearly lost both of them," Seungmin answered quietly. "I think Chan could make you better, Minho. I really do. That’s what Hyunjin and Jeongin have done for me. But you have to think about what  _ you’re _ making  _ him _ ."

Minho curled in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest. "I don’t know," he whispered. "I don’t know what he is because of me." Tears started to sting his eyes, and he heard Seungmin move across the room towards him, kneeling before him and taking his hands.

"I know you love him, Minho. Don’t doubt that I understand that. But he needs time away from you. He needs to learn what this world is without the lens of whatever you two have in front of him."

"I know," Minho choked out. "I know I’m not- I’m not  _ good _ , he needs to be with good people and I’m- but  _ god _ , Seungmin it hurts, I need him here, I-" he broke off, sobs stealing his words, and felt Seungmin’s arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close.

"I’m sorry, Minho. I’m so sorry. It’ll get better, I promise."

"Promise?" Minho managed to say, the word thick with tears.

"I promise," Seungmin said close to his ear, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I promise, Minho, you will be happy. With or without him."

* * *

A letter arrived for Chan around a week after he’d arrived at Woojin and Changbin’s. He was settling in well, glad to be around his friends again. Sometimes, on days where he felt up to it, they took him out on jobs with them, introducing him as their apprentice and showing him how each flower liked to be treated. Other days, where the world was too much and too busy and too loud, he had the cottage to himself, cooking according to Changbin and Woojin’s teachings so that he had food ready when they got home. It only made him ache a little, remembering a different kitchen, a different teacher. He did his best to ignore it.

Jisung, according to his letter, had managed to sort out some of the information on Chan’s birth family. He had narrowed most of it down to one box, if Chan wanted to come and sort through it.

"Will you be alright on your own?" Woojin asked. "You don’t know the city very well yet."

"I know the way to their house," Chan reassured him. "And I think I’m confident enough to ask someone if I get lost."

Woojin smiled. "We’re proud of you, you know. You’ve come a long way already."

He really had, Chan thought. He could walk alone in city streets now, could cook and take care of flowers and make small talk with strangers. He was growing, even if he didn’t quite feel like he’d put down roots. Perhaps he’d find some with Jisung.

He made his way to the flat with no trouble. Ironically, the city-wide riots had grown less frequent since the news came out. Instead, politicians were flooded with letters, crowds gathered for days outside law houses. People were still pushing for change, but now they had  _ evidence _ . Now they were harder to ignore.

Not that the violence had stopped altogether. There were still reports of police brutality, of attacks in the streets. Of peaceful protests gone wrong.

But today, the city was quiet, market stalls packing away in the late afternoon as Chan wandered up the hill that led to Jisung and Felix’s flat. Did any of his family still live in this city? In the houses that were growing familiar to him? He hoped so. He’d like to meet them.

It was Felix who answered the door. He beamed when he saw Chan, opening his arms for a hug before stepping back to let him in. It was an unexpected gesture. They’d barely spoken last time he was here.

"You’re looking well," Felix commented.

"Thank you," Chan said. "I think all the gardening is doing me good."

"Changbin and Woojin using you as free labour?"

Chan laughed. "I suppose they are. I don’t mind."

"That was pretty much what Jisung did to me in the first few months," Felix said with a grin. "He didn’t pay me for a good while."   


Jisung’s head popped around the door into their flat. "Excuse me? I told you from the first instance that I was broke and wouldn’t be able to pay you in anything except food until we did our first case."

"It was good food," Felix conceded, and Chan couldn’t help but laugh.

"The most important of the documents we sorted for you are right over there," Jisung said, pointing to a large cardboard box by the sofa. "Do you… would you rather be by yourself? Or do you want us here?" Chan hesitated. He barely knew these people. But they seemed kind and bright, something like sunlight coming from both of them. And they’d done all this for him, hadn’t they?

"Could you stay?" he asked hesitantly. "This is just… this is going to be a lot for me."

"Of course," Jisung said. "We can pick out some key bits for you if you’d like."

"That would be… thank you."

Felix gently pushed him towards the sofa, and Jisung picked up the box and placed it on his lap when he sat down. They sat either side of him, flicking through and pulling out odd pieces of paper.

"This is the last known address of your uncle. Took some finding. He sailed a lot, apparently, so he difficult to pin down."

"We couldn’t find much about your father except a name, but after a  _ lot _ of digging we managed to find the name of a previous wife. They had children, apparently. Step-siblings!"

"Can you believe your great-grandmother spent most of her life in China? You probably have some really distant cousins there."

They went on like that for a while, listing various scraps of information, relieving the weight of them with laughter and sparks of curiosity. Pieces of a puzzle Chan didn’t think he’d ever solve in its entirety. But pieces, all the same. Pieces of him, filling the hole he’d cut in his own chest when he left the house.

Eventually, Jisung pulled a small square of paper from the box. "I think you’ll want to see this one," he said gently. Something in his tone was reverent, soft and hopeful and melancholic. Carefully, Chan took the paper from him.

It was a photograph of a young woman in a neat black dress, white collar and apron starched and clean, cap set at a jaunty angle atop her head. She was laughing at someone behind the camera, joy blurring her features a little. He recognised the house behind her, the curvature of the stones more familiar to him than his own skin.

"Is that…?" he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

"That’s your mother," Felix said gently. "When she’d just been employed. She looks happy, doesn’t she?"

"She does," Chan managed to say, and his voice cracked around the words. His mother. He could imagine the scene so perfectly. Her first day, all sparks of excitement and anxiety. Asking her husband to take a photograph of her in her new uniform. What joke had he told, Chan wondered, to make her laugh like that? He stared at the photo as if the blur would fade, as though if he looked for long enough he would be able to see whether her eyes looked like his.

"She must have loved you so much," Felix said eventually. "Losing you was the worst thing she could imagine, Chan. She loved you."

And Chan was crying before Felix had even finished speaking. His mother. This woman in the photograph, laughing and happy and ready to face the future, had  _ loved him _ . And he had been taken away, raised by people who wanted him only for the sake of their own reputation, raised with rules so strict they’d felt confining and endless, endless pressure. They’d loved him, he knew. He didn’t doubt that they’d loved him, in their way. But not in the way she did. Would he have been different, he wondered, if she had raised him? Would he have been free to explore, climbing trees with Woojin until dusk fell, running home unashamed of the dirt coating his clothes and hands? Would he still visit her, come home for dinner now and again and see her smile at the sight of him, more wrinkles every time but still the same eyes?

"Oh, Chan." Felix wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." And Chan didn’t even try to speak. He just let himself cry, mourn for a smiling woman he’d never had the chance to meet, who had seen him as her entire world. His mother.

"Can I-" he managed to say eventually. "Can I keep this? The photograph?"

"Of course you can," Jisung reassured him. "This is all for you, Chan. Minho said you were struggling with this, with feeling like you didn’t belong anywhere." He gestured to the box. The photograph. "This is where you belong, Chan. These people."

Chan looked around at the office. The odd other box lying around, still packed with papers. The photograph. Roots, he thought. Not elaborate portraits, not leather-bound tomes with trees drawn in delicate ink, not libraries full of histories. But little things. Aged photographs. Scraps of information. A job and a name, a marriage certificate. No records of power, or great deeds. Just of love and birth and death and moments of joy.

It felt right, somehow. It felt like home.

"I’ll take this box home today," he said eventually. "I’ll come back for the others."

"Of course," Jisung agreed. "I can walk home with you if you like, carry another one." Chan felt Felix stiffen beside him a little. Jisung opened his mouth, and closed it again. "Felix, could you carry one too?" he asked tentatively, and Felix beamed.

"Sure," he said brightly. Jisung offered him a wavering smile. Chan wasn’t sure what had passed between them. He wouldn’t ask. It felt personal.

It was dark by the time he got home, Jisung and Felix in tow. Changbin’s eyes widened as they put the boxes down on the table.

"That’s… a lot of paper."

"That’s my family," Chan told him, and his expression softened.

"Guess we’ve got a lot of reading to do over the next few days, huh?" he said. "Don’t think we wouldn’t help you out with this."

Chan thought he might start crying again. "Thank you," he said. He turned to Jisung and Felix. "And thank you both. So much."

Jisung smiled sheepishly. "It’s the least we could do after the article," he muttered. "We still owe you for that."

Chan laughed. It was strange, he thought, that he could laugh about it. That article had taken his world apart. Now, he supposed, he could start putting it back together. Piece by piece.

He felt for the photograph in his pocket, and smiled.

* * *

Minho couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the first time since Chan had left. He felt as though the house were missing something important. It was strange to sleep in his own bed, too, searching for traces of Chan’s scent on the pillowcases, resorting to sleeping wrapped in his jacket. He was glad Chan hadn’t taken it with him.

He understood why Seungmin had told him to stay away from Chan, give him space. But Minho  _ missed _ him. And was this just the start of a greater distance? Would Chan realise in this time that he didn’t need Minho? Realise there was more to the world than him, horizons expanding while Minho’s narrowed to a focal point around the shade of his eyes?

Minho sat up in bed. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t lose Chan altogether, couldn’t watch him fade away into a life without Minho. He felt a surge of self-hatred rise, bitter in his throat, as he realised just how selfish that was. Chan could be happy without him. Chan could do  _ anything  _ without him. But Minho… Minho didn’t think he could be without Chan.  _ One more chance,  _ he thought desperately.  _ I need one more chance to prove I can do the right thing where he’s concerned. One more chance to make him happy. _

The sea. Chan wanted to see the sea.

Minho clattered down the stairs, searching through the railway timetables Hyunjin kept above the fireplace. There. There was a weekly train down to the coast, no more than a two hour ride. It left the day after tomorrow.

Minho felt hope fizz in his chest. This was his chance to make things right. They could go, just for a day, or longer if Chan wanted. Pay for a coach back when he tired of the ocean, or of Minho.

"Minho?" Jeongin’s voice from the stairs. Minho turned to see him rubbing his eyes, blinking into the light. "What are you doing?"

"Why are you awake?" Minho asked.

"Light woke me up. Stop avoiding my question."

Minho snorted. "You sound like your boyfriends."

"Yeah, well. You can’t dodge all three of us." He waited.

"I’m looking at train timetables. To take Chan down to the sea."

"It’s not even been a week since he left," Jeongin said quietly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Minho paused. "No," he admitted. "No, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. But I need to do it, Jeongin. If it goes well, I can go from there, and if it doesn’t… if it doesn’t go well, I’ll leave him alone for good. But I just need to know."

"Ok," Jeongin said. He hesitated. "You know how late Hyunjin and Seungmin sleep," he said slowly. "If you leave early enough in the morning, they can’t talk you out of it."

Minho couldn’t hold back a smile. "I’m so glad they found you," he said.

Jeongin shrugged, obviously a little flustered by the sincerity in his voice. "Me too. Goodnight, Minho."

He left Minho alone in the living room, little book of train times clutched in his hand. One more chance with Chan. That was all he needed.

He swore that was all he needed.

* * *

Changbin had been teaching Chan to build trellises when Minho arrived. The day had been peaceful, the work simple and methodical, and Woojin had been watching with softened eyes until the knocking on the front door started; it was a little violent, not enough to shake the door in its hinges, but enough that the sound carried through the house into the back garden.

"I’ll get it," Woojin said quietly. Chan watched Changbin fail to hold back a smile. Woojin had been growing more confident since they had started to interact with the rest of Minho’s friends, coming out of his shell just a little. It was progress from the near-constant silence of his childhood.

Woojin returned a moment later, Minho in tow. Chan waited for him to speak. It had been almost a week since they’d last seen each other, and Chan had almost forgotten exactly how lovely he was. But there was a feverish look in his eyes today, hair dishevelled, sharp smile nowhere to be seen.

"Hi," he said, and it almost sounded breathless. "I just… I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask," Changbin said curtly. He didn’t like Minho much, Chan thought. He hoped they’d learn to get along someday.

Minho nodded, blinking a few times. He really did look… frazzled. Tired and worried and unsure of his next step. "There’s… there’s a train that runs down to the sea once a week. Do you want to come with me tomorrow? We could get a coach straight back or stay a while, or whatever you wanted, I just…" he trailed off, gaze flitting back and forth from Chan’s eyes. "I thought you might like to go. To see the sea."

Chan paused. He could see Changbin glaring unashamedly at Minho, Woojin watching him carefully. There was a reason he had been pulled away from Minho. He knew there was. Minho had  _ hurt  _ him. Lied to him and used him and filled his head so nothing else could make its way in. But the Minho standing before him didn’t look like the one he knew. He looked haggard, and a little scared, and so tentative in his hope. He looked like he was offering Chan a fragment of his heart in the palm of his hand.

"We could come back whenever?" he asked slowly.

"We don’t even have to stay longer than a day if you don’t want to," Minho confirmed. His eyes were shining with hope, and it made Chan’s heart flutter. He really was beautiful.

"Ok," Chan said. He felt Changbin’s gaze snap over to him. "I’ll go with you."

Minho’s eyes widened. "You’ll- Right. That’s fantastic, I can- I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning to take you to the station?"

"That sounds good," Chan said. Minho smiled when he spoke, bright and wide and nothing like the razor blade smile Chan knew. He liked this smile better, he thought.

"I’ll help you pack," Woojin said softly. Changbin made a sound a little like a dog huffing.

"I’ll… see you tomorrow, then?" Minho asked. Chan nodded, and he thought he saw Minho’s shoulders sag a little in pure relief. He really had been nervous about this. It was strange, to think of Minho nervous.

"Goodbye," Changbin said, a little loudly, and Minho started, smiling briefly at Chan before ducking back into the house and heading for the front door.

"That was rude," Woojin scolded. Changbin shrugged.

"I think this is a bad idea," he said defensively. "He’s not exactly been good to Chan before." He turned to Chan, expression a little fearful. "I just think he’s going to try something."

"I think you need to have a little more faith in me," Chan said lightly. "I’m not stupid. I spent more time with him than either of you. I know what he looks like when he’s trying to get something he wants, and today… wasn’t that. I think he’s being honest now. But I’ll stay on my guard, ok? And you can punch him if he tries anything."

Changbin sat for a moment, apparently a little taken aback by the strength of Chan’s conviction. "Good," he muttered eventually. Woojin smiled, and Changbin resumed his teaching.

Chan took a moment to start listening, still thinking of Minho. Of the sea, that he had only seen in photographs. His heart jumped a little at the thought of it.

_ Tomorrow, _ he thought.  _ Tomorrow I’ll see it _ . Tomorrow he’d see Minho again. He didn’t bother to pretend that wasn’t at least part of the reason for his joy.

* * *

Hyunjin and Jeongin were in the kitchen when Minho got home. Jeongin was laughing, caged against the counter by Hyunjin’s arms, and Hyunjin was leaning in to press quick, staccato kisses to his cheeks.

"Stop it!" Jeongin cried out, still laughing through the words. "Minho’s here, stop it!"

"No, please. Don’t stop… whatever that is… on my account," Minho said casually. "I’ll just go somewhere else."

"What, like the seaside with Chan?" Hyunjin asked. Minho stopped halfway to the stairs. He turned to Jeongin.

"You  _ snitch _ ," he accused.

Jeongin’s eyes widened. "I didn’t tell them anything! You left the train timetable in the wrong place. And you left it open to the page you were looking at."

"Did I?" Minho asked. Hyunjin nodded. "Oh. I really am getting scatterbrained in my old age, aren’t I?"

"You’re twenty-one, Minho."

"And who knows, I might die at twenty-five."

"Minho…" Hyunjin didn’t seem to know what to say. "Can we talk? About Chan."

"Hyunjin, I have had enough conversations with you about Chan to last me a lifetime."

"Just one more?"

"...fine." Minho sat down at the kitchen table, watching Hyunjin sit opposite him and reach out for Jeongin. He raised his hand. "If you try to pull him onto your lap I’m leaving."

Hyunjin frowned. "I thought you didn’t read my mind," he complained.

"I don’t. I just know you."

Jeongin snorted, sitting down in the chair beside Hyunjin’s. "He’s got you there," he muttered, and Hyunjin shot him a look that was more fond than betrayed.

"So," Hyunjin said. "You’re taking Chan on a trip."

"I am."

"Any plans?"

"Show him the sea. Get ice cream. Walk along the beach."

Hyunjin sat back in his chair. “Are you sure that’s it?"

"Yes, Hyunjin, that’s it. I’m not taking him away to… convince him, or make a move, or take him away forever, I just…" he stopped, looking down at the table. "I just want to see him. I want to see him  _ happy _ ."

Hyunjin sighed heavily. "Minho… what if this doesn’t work out? Have you considered that?"

Minho had. He’d been up half the night before wondering how this would go, whether Chan would just find more reasons to hate him. "I’ll go away," he said, hating how small his voice was. "If it doesn’t work out with Chan. I’ll leave him alone. I’ll just… leave. Plenty of places to see, right?"

"So we’ll lose you again," Hyunjin said slowly. "Seungmin and I."

"I’m sorry," Minho whispered. "But I can’t- if he doesn’t love me, Hyunjin, if he doesn’t want me- I can’t be near him. I just can’t."

"But Minho, we’re your best friends, we’ll be able to help, we can-" Hyunjin broke off as Jeongin reached across the table and took Minho’s hand.

"I understand," he said. "I thought the same about Hyunjin and Seungmin. That I’d rather not be near them than not be  _ with _ them." He squeezed Minho’s hand gently, and Minho felt his heart break just a little. "Just come back, ok?"

"I will," Minho promised. "If I have to go away. I’ll come back. And I’ll write you letters this time. I swear."

"You’d better," Hyunjin said. His voice sounded muffled, and when Minho looked up he could see tears in his eyes. He wiped them away on his sleeve quickly, throwing Minho a watery smile. "You ought to go and pack."

"Ok," Minho said softly. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

Hyunjin didn’t speak again until Minho was almost at the stairs, holding back tears at the kitchen table. "Minho?" he called. Minho turned. Met his gaze. "Be kind to him. Chan, I mean. For your own sake, as well as his."

"I will. I promise."


	19. chapter nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go now. Thank you for sticking with me this far.

Chan was quiet on the journey. They had taken the train, the others waving them off at the station, Chan apparently transfixed by the engine and the clouds of smoke it produced. He had never seen a train before, Minho realised. He had never seen so many people, or the design of the seats, or the way wheels turned. He had never seen so many things.

But Chan never remarked on a single one of the things Minho thought might be spinning through his head. He stared out of the window, silent and composed, and Minho felt bile in his throat. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps Chan didn't trust him after all. He had no reason to. He hadn't been there for the way Minho had spent nights wrapped in his jacket for the fading scent of him, the way Minho had broken down, tears and tears and tears. Chan knew Minho as composed and teasing and sharp. The version of him that broke everything he touched and cast it aside.

But Minho had seen so much of Chan. So much wonder and softness, so much joy and endless fear. He had watched Chan come apart at the seams, seen every raw and lovely thing he kept hidden away. And this silence, this reticence that he’d never seen from Chan before... this was his doing. This was what happened when someone placed all their trust in him and found out he had given nothing in return. He’d never stayed anywhere long enough to watch it happen before.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly. The words fell awkwardly over the table between them, and he cursed himself for asking such a ridiculous question.

"I'm fine," Chan said. He didn't even smile, and Minho felt sick.

"I need to get some air," he muttered, sliding open the door to the compartment and leaving before Chan could reply.

He strode down the corridor towards the end of the train, choking on a mouthful of smoke for a moment as he opened the door to the little viewing platform. But the wind changed and the air cleared, showing Minho fields speeding past, wildflowers scattering the landscape. Did Chan find this beautiful, he wondered? As always, he hadn't seen much in Chan's head, just colours and emotions so fast and bright they blurred into one. Minho sighed. Of course Chan found it beautiful. He found everything beautiful. But for once, he was hiding it, and the thought that it was his fault made Minho want to break something.

He closed his eyes.  _ Run, _ his head was telling him.  _ Get off at the next stop, he'd never know where you went.  _ He tried to quiet it, but it persisted. It would be so easy to run from this. To run from the guilt, the lies he had told, from Chan's damned  _ silence _ . But Minho didn't want to, did he? Because this was Chan. Chan, who had looked at Minho like he was something beautiful, had held him close in the branches of an oak, had let Minho press kisses to the inside of his thighs.

Minho tried to shake off that thought. It didn't belong in daylight. But it had been special somehow, the night he'd spent with Chan. If he cared to lie to himself again, he'd say that was the reason he was here. To feel like that again.

But Minho was maybe a little tired of telling himself lies, and deep down he knew that if Chan barred him from so much as a brush of skin for the rest of their lives, Minho would stay. There was so much to stay for, after all.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze for a moment. He could do this. Maybe. He could try. It was so new to him, to adore someone this way. He didn't quite know what to do with it. It felt breakable in his hands, delicate as ice, too fragile to drop or hold tight. The first step, he supposed, was to talk to Chan. Just talk.

Chan was exactly where Minho had left him. He had pulled a sketchbook and pencil from his bag, and the sound of the graphite against the paper was soothing, a rhythm for Minho to put his words to.

"What are you drawing?" he asked. Chan jolted a little at the question and then blushed, handing over the book slowly. Minho turned it around, scanning the page. It was packed, filled with sketches of orange trees and roses, a woman in an apron, smiling. But there, in the bottom corner, nestled against oak leaves, was a rough, half-finished sketch of him. even without shading or finesse, it was very obviously him; all angles and bright eyes, lips parted in a laugh. "Oh," he said.

Chan reached out a hand for the book. "It's not that good, I'm sorry, I just-"

"It's beautiful,” Minho interrupted. “You made me look beautiful."

Chan hesitated as he took back his sketchbook. "You are.”

Minho said nothing. Chan turned to the window again, expression closing off, and Minho reached for his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said desperately. "I'm sorry if nothing about the outside world is what you expected. I'm sorry you're stuck with me, I'm sorry for lying to you, I'm sorry for every part of this, Chan."

Chan turned to face Minho, eyes wide, but didn't reply. "It was Hyunjin who told me I was in love with you,” Minho continued. “No. That's wrong, that's not it. Hyunjin lectured me about running away until I admitted I was in love with you. Because I am. And I don't know how that works, I don't know how to convince you or whether I should be convincing you at all and I don’t know if this trip is a good idea and I'm... rambling. I don't usually ramble." He stopped, taking a breath and releasing Chan's hand. "I won't be good at this. Being in love with you. I'm too good at running away from things. But I want to try, Chan. I swear, I will do my utmost not to run from you."

"You say that like it's out of your control," Chan said quietly. There was a strength to his tone, something Minho had rarely felt from him. He liked it. He liked Chan being sure of himself. "Surely whether you leave is your choice?"

"It is," Minho agreed. "And I'm good at making poor choices."

"How do you know I'm not one of them?" Chan asked.

Minho paused. He didn't quite know what to say.  _ Because you're perfect,  _ he thought.  _ Because nothing bad could ever come of you, because your smile makes me dizzy and no one does magic like you do and I could forget who I am just from the scent of you. _

"Because I want to run away," was what he settled on. "I never want to run from things that are bad for me."

Chan looked at him for a moment, and Minho let him. Did nothing to distract him, divert his attention, just let him look. "I can't say it back," he said eventually.

"What?"

"You said you're in love with me. I can't say it back. I don't think I actually know you all that well." Something in his tone made Minho wince, a sensation like china cracking in his chest.

"You know me better than a lot of people," he said quietly. "But I understand. And if... if you never do. If you never love me. That's not a problem."

Chan turned, watching the scenery flit by again. "I wouldn't say never," he murmured, and Minho wanted nothing more than to kiss him until they both forgot everything that had passed between them. But he sat still on his side of the table, watching Chan watch the world. That would have to be enough for now.

* * *

The sea, when they arrived, appeared to be a little more than Chan could comprehend. He stood and stared at it, grey water reaching up to the grey sky each time a wave slapped against a rock, the horizon pure and straight in the distance. The spray caught on his jacket, a salted wind tangling the curls of his hair, but he didn't seem to mind. He took a step forward, onto the shingles, and Minho reached to hold him back.

"You can't go in now," he explained. "Not dressed like that, and not while the water's so rough. I… I think I saw a guesthouse up there. If you like, we can book a room and stay until the weather gets better?"

Chan hesitated. Minho watched him look out towards the horizon, and bite his lip. He tore his eyes away. "We’ll just stay one night," Chan said eventually. "Get a coach back tomorrow evening."

"Of course," Minho agreed. "That sounds perfect."

Chan seemed reluctant to be pulled away from the edge of the beach, and it barely took a minute for Minho to concede and suggest that they walk along the beach together before they found a room. Chan just looked so calm here, so full of wonder and longing. It almost made Minho a little jealous. But Chan was beautiful here, dusk gathering around him as they walked, seafoam on his skin, hair dancing in the wind, and Minho could have watched him forever.

"Do you have any rooms facing the sea?" he asked when they arrived at the guesthouse.

"Only one," the owner muttered, glancing between the two of them, the way Chan tended to brush his hand against Minho's to provide some sense of security.

Minho ignored her. "That's perfect. We'll take that one." He shot her a winning smile. "Is there anyone to take our bags?"

The room was small, but tidy and well-decorated, and the view of the sea stretching out from the grey shingles was everything Chan could have wanted. Minho stretched out on the bed as Chan sat on the windowsill and stared at it.

"You really can't get enough of it, can you?" Minho teased softly.

Chan didn't reply for a moment, pressing his palm against the cold glass of the windowpane. "It looks like the edge of the world," he whispered eventually.

"It's not," Minho said. "There's even more world behind it. We could explore that, if you'd like."

"Mm," Chan hummed. "I'd like that. Not right now. I have things to do back home."

Home. With Woojin and Changbin, presumably.

"Oh?" he said lightly. Chan turned to face him, the soft light of the room catching his features, and Minho thought he could die happy at the sight of it.

"I went back to talk to Jisung and Felix. They found so much on my family, Minho. Tiny little pieces, but enough that I think I can maybe find some of them." He smiled, happy and honest, dimples appearing in his cheeks. "I want to try. Then I’ll travel with you."

Minho felt himself smiling softly, affectionately, at him. He’d come so far. Given time, time to grow, time to shake off the influence of that house; he was going to  _ shine _ .

"I’ll wait," Minho said softly. "For when you’re ready." It felt awkward to say, clunky and presumptuous and vulnerable, but Chan’s smile widened.

"Thank you," he said, and Minho almost thought he felt himself blush.

"I’m- going to get ready for bed," he said quickly. He needed to get away for a moment. He knew it was right, this honesty between them, this gentleness, but it was starting to make him panic. He didn’t know how to do this. He had no idea  _ at all _ how to do this. Staring into the mirror, he tried to breathe evenly. What would Hyunjin say? Be honest. Be yourself. Be kind. He wasn’t sure that any of those matched up too well.

Chan was half dressed when Minho emerged from the bathroom, and he hastily tried to back through the door again, bumping his shoulder into the wall as he did so.

"It’s fine, Minho," Chan said, although he had flushed pink from his ears down to his neck.

"I guess it wouldn’t be the first time I've seen you in a state of undress," Minho joked, and immediately cursed himself. Why would he mention that? Why would he remind Chan that last time he placed his trust in Minho he disappeared without even saying goodbye?

Chan shrugged with a smile Minho couldn’t interpret, and Minho wanted to beat his head against a wall. Even if they weren’t about to share a bed, that had been a push too far. Not that Minho had any particular designs on that bed. Somehow, he wasn't sure Chan would believe him if he said that out loud.

It wasn't uncomfortable, to sleep beside Chan. The mattress was a little soft, pushing them together in the middle, but they weren't close enough for Minho to give up and sleep on the floor for fear of touching Chan purely by accident. With the soft sound of the sea pulling on the shingles, and the knowledge that Chan was close beside him, Minho fell into dreams quicker than he had in a long time.

He was awoken by the lack of warmth beside him, Chan's space in the bed slowly cooling in the night air.

"Chan?" he called, a little hoarse from sleep, and panicked for a moment at the lack of reply until he caught sight of Chan's silhouette against the window. "Chan, what are you doing?"

"Sorry," Chan said softly, turning so that the moonlight caught his profile. "Did I wake you up?"

"It doesn't matter. Are you ok?"

"Mm." Chan turned back to the window, the sparkle of the moon on the waves, her light fractured and dancing. He said nothing more, so Minho crawled out of bed to sit beside him. Tentatively, he rested his head on Chan’s shoulder. He felt a flush of joy when he felt Chan tilt his head to rest it there.

"What’s wrong, Chan?" Minho asked. His mind flashed back to the last time Chan had confided in him. Firelight. A kiss.

Chan sat silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "This feels like a dream. It’s felt like a dream since I left. All of it. Woojin and Changbin being together, finding out about my family. Being here with you. I feel like I'm going to wake up back home and nothing will have changed." He paused. "I'll be alone again."

Minho was a little lost for words. How was he supposed to respond to that? He wasn’t good with words, with honesty, and for Chan to tell him that he feared that none of this was real… He reached over, sliding back the sleeve of Chan's pyjamas to pinch the pale skin there gently. "There," he said. "Not a dream."

Chan smiled faintly, and Minho let his hand slide down to lace his fingers together with Chan's. "It's real. I promise you it's all real. We'll wake up tomorrow and the sun will be shining and we can paddle in the sea and get ice cream."

Chan hesitated. "You'll still be here?" he asked in a small voice, and Minho felt his heart break a little.

"You don't know how guilty I felt about leaving you that morning," he managed to say. The words fell heavy from his tongue. It made him feel sick, remembering that he’d done that. He still didn’t know how Chan had taken it. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know. "How badly I wanted to stay there with you."

"But you still left."

"I did," Minho agreed heavily. "But I won't do it again. I swear to you, Chan, if you want me beside you every single time you wake, I'll be there."

"I think I do," Chan whispered. "I think I do want that." He felt Chan lift his head, and Minho turned to meet his eyes just as Chan did the same. The movement seemed to cut the space between them in half, and Minho could feel Chan’s breath against his skin, hear his own heart beating in his ears. He waited, letting Chan make the first move, and when their lips met his heart  _ soared _ . At first, the kiss was as soft as a moonlit kiss should be, gentle and sweet, until Minho felt Chan's hands move hesitantly to Minho's waist, his tongue against the seam of Minho's lips.

Minho let Chan lead, let him push as far as he wanted, tried to gauge what he wanted from this. He couldn’t take control here, couldn’t take what he wanted and hope Chan wanted it too. Not like last time. He needed to be sure.

Minho felt Chan’s hand slide slowly under his shirt, and he panicked. He pulled away, palms pressed against Chan’s shoulders to keep him back.

"Minho- I’m sorry, should I not have-"

Minho held up a hand to stop him talking. "I just- I need a minute, ok?"

"...ok."

Eventually, he looked up, meeting Chan’s eyes. They were confused and fearful and so very gentle, and Minho thought distantly that he could drown in them.

"I need you to know," Minho said slowly, "that I didn’t plan this. This wasn’t what I wanted from you when I asked you to come with me. Not that- I mean, I want this, god, I-" he stopped. Closed his eyes. "I didn’t ask you to come with me expecting you to sleep with me," he clarified. "If you want this, then… great, I guess, fantastic, but I need you to know that sex isn’t all I want from you."

"Oh," Chan said. He sounded… like he might be laughing. Minho opened his eyes to see him smiling, and waited for a proper response as Chan reached out to touch his cheek. "I know that’s not why you brought me here, Minho. You looked like you’d barely slept when you invited me, I knew there was something to this. That’s why I agreed to come with you. If I’d thought that was all you wanted, I wouldn’t be here." He hesitated. "I would still have wanted to come with you," he admitted, "but even after everything, I know I’m worth a little more than that. Plus, I think Changbin would have tied me down if he thought I’d do something that stupid."

Minho couldn’t help but laugh. "This was still pretty stupid, Chan. Did you get Woojin to put the rope on top of the cupboard where he couldn’t reach it? Is that what happened?"

Chan started laughing too, then, forehead pressed against Minho’s until he kissed him again. It was sweeter than before, less intent behind it. Minho loved it just the same.

"So," Chan said carefully, resting a hand on Minho’s thigh. "This is… this is ok?"

"If you’re sure this is something you want," Minho whispered.

Chan kissed him slowly, tracing a hand up Minho’s arm. For such a comparatively chaste touch, it left him dizzy. "If you’re sure you’ll be here in the morning," he said when he pulled away, and the vulnerability in his words brought Minho crashing back to earth.

"I will," Minho promised, gripping Chan’s wrist as though he could convey by touch that he wasn’t going anywhere, never wanted to leave his side. "I swear I will."

"Good," Chan said softly, and when he kissed Minho again, Minho let himself forget anything but the sea, and the moon, and the two of them.

* * *

Minho awoke before Chan, just as he had the first time. But this time, he did what he had wanted to back then, marvelling at every point their skin touched until Chan shifted beside him, eyes opening slowly as the sunlight slid over him.

"Good morning," Minho whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Chan's shoulder. Chan didn't reply, simply stared at him, apparently still half asleep, until he turned to face the window, blinking up at the dust motes falling through the light.

"Can we come back here?” Minho heard him say. He wished he could see his expression. “Once I’ve found my family, once we've crossed the sea... Can we come back here?"

Minho shifted closer, curling around Chan like an echo of him. "I like that idea," he said. "We'll come back here."

And as he traced gentle patterns on Chan’s back, the sound of the gulls and the sea filtering through, Minho decided it didn't matter how long they travelled for. However long it took Chan to find his family, however many places they visited together… he would come back here with Chan. No matter what.


	20. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, we come to the end.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this, and especially to those of you who've left comments, or kudos, or bookmarked this work; it means a lot to someone putting their work out into the wider world for the first time.
> 
> Let's meet again at the start of a new story <3

Minho and Chan travelled for a year before they returned to the city.

Seungmin didn’t seem surprised to see them; he’d felt Minho coming, presumably. Minho wondered if he’d been excited to feel him coming closer again.

Even if he had known they were coming, Seungmin’s eyes still widened at the sight of them. They’d changed, Minho thought; his own smile more genuine than it had been in a long time, Chan looking less nervous than the last time Seungmin had seen him; he stood taller, hand in Minho’s, the evening sun making his skin glow.

"Hi, Seungmin," Minho said. "You look well."

"So do you," Seungmin replied. Minho couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. A year wasn’t the longest he’d left it between visits to Seungmin, but it was still far too long to go without seeing one of his oldest friends. "Come in. You’ve chosen a good time, everyone’s here."

"Everyone?" Chan queried.

Seungmin rolled his eyes. "The world doesn’t revolve around you two. We stayed friends with your groundskeepers and reporters after you left." He sighed. "I swear Jeongin spends more time learning how to garden than he does at home with us."

"Getting jealous?" Minho teased. Seungmin snorted, and beckoned them inside with tilt of his head.   


The living room erupted with shouts at the sight of Minho and Chan, mostly from Jisung and Felix’s corner of the sofa, along with a remarkably high pitched shriek from Changbin. Hyunjin almost leapt out of his chair, wrapping Minho in a hug so tight he could barely breathe.

"You’re so  _ happy _ ," he whispered in Minho’s ear. It was a statement, not a question. Minho supposed his aura was somewhat brighter these days.

"I am," Minho whispered back. Chan was gone when he pulled away, being subjected to similar treatment by Woojin and Changbin. Minho couldn’t help a fond smile as he giggled when Woojin hesitantly touched his hair, grown longer and bleached a little by the sun.

"Sit down," Jisung called. "Tell us where the hell you’ve been for a year." Minho tore his gaze away from Chan, slumping down next to Jeongin and shooting him a grin.

"I have photos of where we’ve been," he said airily. "I’ll show you later. I want to know what you’ve all been up to. How are things in this neck of the woods?"

Jisung laughed incredulously. "You seriously don’t know? Pretty much everything kicked off after you left. A new movement. Sorcerers standing in the streets and just… doing magic in plain sight. The first few got arrested, but the backlash was…" he shook his head. "A couple of police officers who turned out to be sorcerers too let them out."

"And it kept happening?" Minho asked.

"Yup. Hyunjin took part, you know. Stood in the middle of the square outside the police station and filled the entire place with blue butterflies. Looked like he was going to faint afterwards."

Minho carefully dipped into Jisung’s mind for the memory. Hyunjin. Looking… at peace. Crowds of sapphire wings flitting up to the sky. Him collapsing into Seungmin and Jeongin’s arms, laughing and sobbing and free.

"People still want to talk to Chan, you know," Felix added. "There were journalists snooping around the house for about a month. You still get one or two up there."

"They won’t find anything," Minho said softly.

"I know. You dragged the evidence halfway round the world with you," Felix teased. "He looks almost like a different person."

"I’ve been doing my best to take care of him."

"Not what I expected," Jisung said lightly. "I sort of thought once he was down here you’d be dragging him out for interviews."

"No," Minho said. "I mean- I can see why you’d think that, but-" he glanced over at Chan. Still laughing. Still beautiful. "He deserved better than that. You saw what he was like when he was first here."

"Never stopped you before," Jisung countered. "People deserving better." The bite in the words didn’t go unnoticed.

"No," Minho agreed. "It didn’t." He looked up, meeting Jisung’s eyes. Seeing the echo of flint there from another day. A hospital room. "But I suppose people change."

Jisung’s expression softened. "I suppose they do."

Minho smiled at him, letting the moment settle before he turned to Felix. "What about you? All healed up?"

Felix nodded, smiling brightly as he lifted his shirt to reveal a scar on his stomach, faded to a gentle silver. Jisung poked it gently and he laughed, curling in on himself.

"Stop," he complained. "That tickles!"

"I know," Jisung said with a smile, leaning over Felix’s raised knees to kiss him softly.

"Have they been like this all year?" Minho asked Jeongin quietly.

"Oh, the whole time," Jeongin confirmed. "Surprisingly, Woojin and Changbin are worse when they’re not in front of a crowd."

"Seungmin said you’d been spending a lot of time with them. I think he feels left out."

Jeongin smiled softly, and tapped his temple. Carefully, Minho looked through his thoughts to see plans for a garden round the back of the house, hidden from the world. A place for Seungmin to go when he was angry or afraid. Where stilted, broken magic didn’t matter. Where he could just… be. By himself or with the ones he loved.

"Oh, Jeongin," Minho said softly. "I don’t know what to say."

"Don’t bother, he might overhear," Jeongin said with a wink, and Minho couldn’t help but laugh.

"Looks like I left more of an impression on you than I thought," he teased.

"Looks like Chan’s left quite an  _ impression _ on you," Jeongin said, tugging gently at Minho’s collar with a long finger to reveal the hickey there.

Minho grinned. "Oh, he’s left plenty of those."

"Ok, ok, I don’t want to know," Jeongin said, laughing as he retreated to the end of the sofa.

"Photos!" Felix shouted. "You said you had photos. Entertain us."

"Is he always this demanding?" Minho asked Jisung. Jisung nodded, and Felix laughed as he slapped his shoulder. "Chan," Minho called across the room. "Do you know where the projector is?"

"It’s in the blue suitcase, love," Chan answered casually, and then flushed as Woojin smiled softly at him and Jisung and Felix started catcalling.

"Shut up, both of you," Hyunjin scolded gently, running his hands through Seungmin’s hair where he sat on the floor between Hyunjin’s knees. "Let them be."

"No photos unless you behave," Minho said pointedly, and Felix pouted.

It took Minho a while to unpack the projector and film, Chan curled on the sofa while he slotted everything into place. He was talking about his family, Minho realised. When Chan had found that a great deal of them had moved across borders or oceans, he had suggested to Minho that they start their travels earlier than planned, make finding Chan’s family a part of that.

"They’re wonderful, Woojin," he was saying. "They’re just… such good people. My cousins are so funny, and my step-brothers… they took me in like they’d known me all their lives." His voice softened. "My uncle had so many stories about my mother. So many more photographs. He made me copies of them all."

"I’m so happy for you," Woojin whispered, and when Minho turned to tell Chan that everything was ready, he was beaming.

Minho insisted on having Chan stand by his side while he talked about each photo, encouraging him to add his own details. Chan seemed to find the photos embarrassing, in all honesty; perhaps because so many of them were of him. Sitting on rocks, or standing on bridges or empty streets, sunburned and happy and smiling at the scenery or someone just behind the camera. Those were Minho’s favourite photos. When the world around them was vibrant and brilliant and beautiful, but Chan chose to look only at him. It was selfish, he knew. But Minho had begun to accept that no matter how much good Chan did him, he would most likely always be just a little selfish.

It took over an hour to go through all the photos of their travels. Felix and Changbin clamoured to go back to their favourites, hear more about them, and Minho leaned close to Chan’s ear to ask if he could do it. Minho had something he needed to do.

"Ok," Chan murmured, turning so that the two of them were almost nose to nose. "I’ll see you soon?"

"I promise this won’t take long," Minho said, and let himself relax a little as Chan kissed him gently.

"I love you," Chan murmured.

"I love you, too," Minho told him softly as he stepped out of the glare of the projector, leaving Chan to flick back through to their time in China. He tapped Seungmin on the shoulder as he passed, gesturing him outside.

The air was cool, day just running into evening, streetlights flickering into life one by one. Minho breathed it all in. He’d missed the way this city smelled at dusk.

"Should I be worried that you want to speak to me alone?" Seungmin asked, only a trace of mockery in his tone.

Minho grinned. "On most occasions, yes. But I just want your advice on something. I know you’d never be anything but honest with me." Seungmin waited patiently, eyes wide with curiosity, as Minho slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. He placed it in Seungmin’s hand. Watched his eyes widen as he opened it, the shine of the ring inside casting a slight reflection across his cheek.

"Minho," he murmured, "is this...?"

"I know it’s only been a year," Minho said quickly. "It’s not long. But… I think Chan is it for me, Seungmin. I don’t think there’ll be anyone else. This isn’t anything sinister, I’m not trying to- to  _ trap _ him with me, I swear, I’ve thought so many times this past year about letting him go, I  _ wanted  _ to… let him go."

"Why?" Seungmin asked, gaze steady. Minho looked away.

"There must be someone better than me that he can love," he said eventually. Honesty, he told himself. It hurt. It  _ always _ hurt. But it was what he was trying to live by these days, at least when it came to the people he loved. "In the whole of the world we’ve travelled, there must be someone better than me."

"Minho," Seungmin said gently, handing back the ring. "Does he make you happy?"

"Yes," Minho said immediately. "So happy, Seungmin, I don’t think I can even- I feel like I’m made of light, when I’m with him."

"And do you think you make him happy?" Minho paused.

Did he make Chan happy?

He thought of Chan laughing as he bargained down prices in marketplaces; of Chan beaming at him when he mastered a phrase of a language Minho had taught him; of making love late at night, the way he had looked at Minho when his skin was illuminated in the psychedelic glow of stained-glass lamps. Like he was something to be adored.

"I think so," Minho whispered. "I think I make him happy."

Seungmin stepped closer, wrapped Minho in a hug. "Then you’re good for him, Minho," he whispered in his ear. "You didn’t have the best start, but you’re making him  _ happy _ . I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to keep him in your life."

"Thank you, scrap," Minho said softly. "I’ve missed you."

"We’ve missed you too. Leave it less than a year next time, ok?"

"Ok," Minho promised. "We will."

Seungmin pulled back, smiling at him in a way that made Minho’s chest ache with affection. "Let’s go back inside," he suggested. "I need to spend time with Jeongin now that he’s actually here for once."

"He loves you so much, Seungmin," Minho said gently. "Take it from the mind reader."

Seungmin exhaled slowly. "I know," he said eventually. "I know they both do. I’m working on remembering that."

"You’ll get there. Look what wonders love worked on me."

"True," Seungmin said with a smile. He looked up at the sky, the stars gathering there. "You know, Minho… I think we’re all going to be ok."

"I think we are," Minho agreed quietly. Seungmin opened the front door, light and laughter spilling out onto the street; to Minho, Chan’s voice rang out sweeter than the rest, and he smiled as he slipped the ring back into his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of my work, and some of the thought processes behind it, come and say hi on my shiny new (very green) tumblr! You can find me under nettlestingsoup just like you can here, and I'll be posting about stray kids, writing, and maybe the odd snippet of unpublished AUs or hints as to what I'll be posting next. I hope to see you there! <3


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